


In your arms I shall not fear the night

by Swimmer963



Series: A Song for Two Voices [1]
Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, rationalfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 91,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swimmer963/pseuds/Swimmer963
Summary: This is a rationalfic take on "The Last Herald-Mage", inspired by HPMOR and other works. Accessible regardless of whether you've read the original series. Though far from perfect, the characters are trying to do their best with the information, intelligence, and skills they have. Unfortunately, their enemies are also doing that, and sometimes even reasonable decisions can turn out badly.[Meta note: this starts out a bit slow, and book 1 is kind of a different genre from the rest. In particular, the rationalist content is fairly subtle at the start, and the effective altruism themes come out a lot more towards the end of book 2 and early book 3. If you’re moderately enjoying book 1 but a little bored, try sticking it out until the end of book 2.]Ashamed of him, Vanyel's father sends his disappointing son to live with his strict aunt, the Herald-Mage Savil. Although he knows things will change, Vanyel dramatically underestimates just how different his life is about to become. Sparks fly as he discovers both love and magic.





	1. Prologue: Yfandes

_Her name is Yfandes, and she sees the future._

_In a blue place, she sees the whole world spread out along silver threads. She sees it in fragments, murky and confused, everything that will ever be laid out in a million fragments._

_Her spirit lives in the blue, but her body is in a field, and she walks alongside someone else. They are both shaped like horses, glowing white under the moon, and their hooves are shining silver. They move together easily, familiar, like two old friends._

_Gala, I think it’s happening soon, she says to her friend._

_She is a horse/and she is a woman. Her mane flows long and white in the moonlight/and her hair is dark and pulled back in two neat braids. Her eyes are a horse’s eyes, round and blue, framed by long white lashes/and they are a young woman’s eyes, brown as the mud by the side of a river._

_Her friend neighs/laughs, tossing her white mane/her auburn curls. Yfandes, you’ve been saying that for a year._

_No, really. I think he’s here, in Haven I mean. I felt him. But it isn’t time. Not yet. He isn’t ready._

_I hope you’re right. I know it’s been hard for you._

_It has been hard, these ten long years alone, watching her friends Choose one by one. Gala has less time for her, these past few years._

_They nuzzle each other, snuffling through round nostrils._

_Yfandes, it’s worth it, I promise you._

_I know, Gala._

_She stands half outside of time and she sees it, a wall of ice and darkness across a thousand possible futures. She sees the paths through it; so narrow! But one of them, the widest of those winding promises, is hers. Theirs._

_You will love him so much, Gala says to her._

_I know. I already do._

_Two white horses walk through the moonlight, prancing, playful, the taste of fresh meadow air in their lungs, the feel of dirt still warm from the sun under their hooves/And two girls walk hand in hand, in a blue place, through a web that reaches everywhere. Near and far, past and future. Somewhere, a baby takes her first breath and cries; she does not yet know that she is loved, or what love is. Somewhere, a young man in green with flaming red hair holds a silver-haired woman as she weeps. Somewhere a forest burns. Somewhere, lightning flashes over a raging river. The fragments are uncertain, they shift and change._

_(One shard is constant: mountains, falling snow, a place far from here. A pathway carved by dark magic, that must not be crossed. She stands with him, her Chosen, she will not let him face this alone.)_

_Yfandes, are you ready for this?_

_A horse’s whicker/A girl takes a deep, steadying breath._

_What must happen, will happen... But she shivers anyway._

_She sees the places where possibilities diverge – the places where a word must be spoken, a hand must be held, a line must be crossed – the places where she can only nudge, but no more._

_The path is hers, but not to walk alone. She will try her best to guide him through it. Him, her dearest and closest friend, the son of her heart, whose name she does not even know. Whose face she sees in her dreams._

_She is not sure if she can ever be ready for this, but she says to Gala, I am as ready as I need to be._


	2. Prologue: Yfandes

_Forst Reach, Valdemar, in the reign of Queen Elspeth, 789_ _ th _ _year after the founding_

 

Vanyel sat against the brick wall of his favourite hiding-place, a tiny room hidden on the other side of the library. There was a door, but it was only half the height of a man, and besides it was behind a bookcase. But one could climb from the library window, across the slanting roof, and in through the window of the other room easily enough. And no one seemed to remember the place was there – there were a lot of hiding-places in the Ashkevron manor, courtesy of his grandfather’s creative but confused building plans.

Since the spring, when Father’s weaponsmaster, Jervis, had broken Vanyel’s arm in training after an ill-thought-out confrontation, he would only practice his instruments here. His hand didn’t work so well anymore, and the thought of his mother and her ladies overhearing his fumbles was too humiliating. Besides, his mother’s solar no longer made a very good refuge – her maid Melenna’s flirting had become truly insistent, and his mother seemed to approve, if anything.

And it was a good place to avoid weapons practice – even now that the cast was finally off, he had no intention of letting damned Jervis break his other arm.

He had been spending a great deal of time here, alone – reading, playing, or just thinking. Right now he was thinking of his sister, as he held her last letter loosely across his lap. She’d helped him come up with the plan that had earned him a lecture on ‘cheating’ and a broken arm, rather than the opportunity to learn a fighting-style better suited to his slight build. He didn’t blame her for it. He couldn’t blame her for leaving, either, not when she was finally happy. Forst Reach had never been a pleasant place for her either. Father might have reserved most of his attention for his unsatisfactory eldest son, but he had dismissed his firstborn daughter out of hand, and Vanyel might be the only one who knew how much that had hurt her.

 

> _Lissa Ashkevron to Vanyel Ashkevron_
> 
> _My dearest brother,_
> 
> _Oh, Van, you would love it here! The Corey daughters are a little dense, I suppose, but they have kind hearts. They keep inviting me to sit and embroider with them in their solar. Even though they must have noticed by now that I’m hopeless, they’re still trying to make me feel welcome and they never mock me for looking like a mule or dressing like a man. The boy fosterlings are a delight, too; you would not believe the mischief Lord Trevor Corey lets them get away with. It’s wonderful entertainment, though, and I suspect he enjoys it along with us!_
> 
> _Lord Corey really is much smarter than Father. Okay, maybe that’s unfair. There’s nothing too wrong with Father’s brain, he just chooses not to use it. I wish you could train here with us! Some of his swordmaidens fight_ _so beautifully you would weep to see it – and I’ve seen them hold their own against armsmen bigger than old Jervis! For once I feel like a graceful dancer instead of an awkward lump, Van. I’m growing of the opinion that Jervis is just a bad teacher!_
> 
> _Your arm must be better now. I think perhaps next month I can ask Lord Corey about you. Until then, can you stay out of Father’s way and try not to provoke him? I know that bad luck follows you around, my sweet brother, and I don’t mean to blame you – but you know how Father is._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Liss_

 

“Withen!” His mother’s voice, startlingly close, jolted him out of his absorption. For a moment he panicked, expecting to see her somehow in the room with him – but no, the voice came from the library just on the other side of the wall. “Out with it, Withen!” As usual, her high-pitched, almost shrill voice grated on his nerves. “If you have to drag me all the way here, at least make it quick?”

He heard a door slam gently, heavy footsteps, and the hint of a sigh, all muffled by the bricks that Lady Treesa’s voice seemed to have no problem crossing. He sighed, quietly. _And here we go again, another argument_. He hated it when his parents argued, and not only because of the raised voices; it often seemed like they weren’t even having the same conversation, and reason never came into it.

A long silence. “I’m sending Vanyel away,” his father said gruffly.

Every muscle in his body went rigid, his book falling from nerveless hands.

“WHAT?” His lady-mother screeched, probably audible as far away as the dining hall. “You– Where– How– Withen, what in Astera’s name are you thinking? _Why?”_

“I can’t do anything with the boy, and neither can Jervis.” Vanyel heard weariness in his father’s growl. “I’m at my wit’s end, Treesa. He’s hopeless. It’s like he doesn’t even _care._ I hoped doing the rounds with me might show him...”

Vanyel shuddered. The ‘rounds’ were a new weekly torture since his arm had healed, and one he couldn’t avoid, since Father always set up immediately after breakfast before he had a chance to slip away. So he rode around their lands with his father, as Withen pointed out the peasant-farms under his protection, and lectured him on the duties of a Lord Holder. That was bad enough, but the way the farmers watched him was worse – their eyes followed him, opaque but implacable – asking, expecting, _demanding_ things of him that he had no idea how to give, even if he’d wanted them under his protection. Which he didn’t. He’d never asked to be responsible for their lives! And he had no idea what to do in a drought, or flood, or invasion.

...A quiet part of him protested that this wasn’t exactly true; the histories and treatises on tactics he had read had covered those topics often enough, and so had his tutor. In fact, he spent enough time seething when he was pretty sure his tutors were _wrong_ and he knew a better answer! But he was in no mood to listen to that little voice today.

His mother’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Of course he cares, Withen, but you, you’re trying to make him into something he’s not! You put him out there with that, that _bully,_ and expect him to–”

“To behave like a man! He’s a coward, Treesa, and you’ve made him that way with your cossetting, making him the pet of the bower, you’ve convinced him his pretty face and his delicate little musician’s hands are worth more than a man’s honour!”

Vanyel groaned. It was always the same, wasn’t it? Nothing he could do was ever good enough.

“He’s a coward, why? Because he won’t let a sour old man twice his size beat him to a pulp?”

“He won’t even try! I’d broken half the bones in my body by the time I was his age–”

Like the idiot that he was, Vanyel thought, uncharitably. What almost made it worse was that, in many ways, Father was far from an idiot. He might be unlettered, and he would be embarrassed to caught _thinking_ about something, but he made sensible enough decisions in running the Holding.

“And that was a virtue, was it? Withen, that’s idiocy, the broken arm put him out of training for two months, it certainly didn’t make him any stronger!”

Father was sputtering now, and Vanyel’s jaw had gone slack. Not only was Treesa standing up to her husband, her last words had been almost sensible, and that was _not_ what he expected when his parents argued. “He’s got to be willing to put up with some discomfort if he’s ever going to learn!” Withen went on, catching his stride again. “You’ve made him into nothing but a little peacock, no toughness, no, no sense of responsibility. Thanks to you, all he’s learned is how to pick out a tunic that matches his eyes – you’ve let him trade on that pretty face of his, put up with nonsense you’d never stand with Mekeal–”

Oh, that was unfair, Vanyel thought bitterly. _I’m the best rider at Forst Reach and my tutors all praise my studies, but just because I’m not big and strong enough to go toe-to-toe with Jervis..._

“Oh, because Mekeal’s so _perfect_ , that dutiful little shadow of yours – I’d be surprised if he’s had one original thought since he was born, the way he hangs onto your every word and never questions anything–”

“At least he respects his elders, like a boy ought to! Vanyel doesn’t know his damned place, telling me to my face he would rather be a Bard, quoting those _books_ of his at me–”

“Oh, is _that_ what you call a man who can think for himself? Because he can read and write more than his own name, unlike certain grown men, I might add? You’d really rather have an empty-headed idiot as your heir? I– I can’t believe it, Withen! That priest of yours has you repeating his words back like a little parrot, and you’re sending your own _son_ away because you’ve let that man brainwash you into following his every word. Don’t ask questions, respect your elders – respect a greybeard in robes who’s never worked a field, held a sword, or seen a book of accounts in his whole damned life? I never would’ve thought that the man I married...” Treesa trailed off; her shrill voice had gone almost sad towards the end.

There was a stormy silence. Vanyel blinked, his brain finally working again. So _that_ was the explanation for his lady-mother’s newfound spine. Mother considered herself quite pious, but she didn’t like Father Leren, the priest currently at the keep, and she had seen an opportunity to slash at Father’s loyalty to the man. Not that it had any hope of working – Vanyel could have told her that in a moment. He might not have figured out how to handle Father, but he damn well knew how _not_ to.

“The boy’s going, and that’s final,” Father said finally, in a voice like stone. But his next words were softer. “I don’t like it either, Treesa. He _is_ my son and heir, and I want to see him succeed.”

That was startling, and it was even more surprising when Mother failed to respond with immediate hysteria. “I know,” she said finally, very softly.

How gallant of Father, he thought dully. Mekeal would cheerfully kill him to take his place, if he thought it would work, and Vanyel would trade places with his brother in a heartbeat, and Father had to know that. Why couldn’t he do the reasonable thing for once, instead of the damned honourable thing?

Withen’s heavy sigh could be heard even through the wall. When he spoke, it was very slowly, hesitating, as though each word had to be pushed out against a great resistance. “I just wish I hadn’t let it come to this. Treesa, I made a wrong turn with the boy, I think. I’m not stupid, I can _tell_ that whenever I want him to do something he wants to do the opposite – that I just can’t win anymore. He just gets me so angry! I know that doesn’t help, but I can’t _stop_ , he just – he sets me off every time. And I know where he gets his stubbornness.”

There was a long silence. Vanyel’s brain was skidding in circles again. He had noticed the pattern himself, and even made a few halfhearted tries to break it; it was clear that, even if he wanted no part of what Father expected of him, sulking and giving up on trying to please him would win him no points and would only make Withen angrier and harder to deal with. But Father never praised him even when he _did_ try, and it was just so frustrating and unfair, and he was tired.

 _So here I am, spending the entire day hiding, no doubt cementing everybody’s impression that I’m a lazy, good-for-nothing coward._ He let his face fall into his hands. The walls of his little room seemed suddenly very close. _This is as much a prison as a refuge_. He had to admit that it had been fear driving him, for these last few months, constricting his life into a tighter and narrower little circle as he avoided Jervis and his father.

“You never said _where_ you’re sending him,” Mother said finally, in a small voice.

“I’m sending him to Savil at High Court,” Father said, his voice once again firm. “I may not agree with her on much, but I do know she’ll have no patience for any nonsense, and she’s tough-minded enough to break him out of some of the habits he’s gotten into. And maybe when he’s not the only pretty face in the room, he’ll _have_ to learn how to do more than dress in silks and plunk out a tune–”

“Savil? That old harridan? You, you _monster!_ ” Mother’s voice did rise to a hysterical shriek now. Oddly enough, that made Vanyel feel obscurely more sympathetic to his aunt, not that he remembered his first and only encounter with her very fondly.

 

* * *

 

 

Savil was his aunt, Withen’s sister, nearly a decade older; Vanyel’s grandmother had gone through a number of stillbirths and children dead in infancy before his father was born. Savil, like her mother, was the sort of independent-minded woman that the Ashkevrons seemed to produce at least once a generation; she had run away at age fourteen, gone haring off to Haven and been Chosen the moment she crossed the city gates, and turned out to have a powerful Mage-Gift.

They had met nearly two years ago, and Lissa’s idol had picked the one week to visit when Lissa was away seeing cousins. Vanyel had always suspected that wasn’t just bad luck, and that Father had something to do with it.

He had watched her ride up on her white horse, no, her Companion, with profoundly mixed feelings. She was a Herald, and the Heralds in the books he had read, often the authors of those books, had generally been sympathetic and often interesting people – but from what he’d overheard, Savil sounded profoundly boring, just as cold and dried-up and duty-bound as her brother. 

He had still wanted to impress her, for some reason, and so he had stood anxiously with his siblings, wearing his best clothes, and had bowed deeply to her in his best imitation of Courtly manners. Gods, she even looked like Father, with her long square-jawed face and that impressive family nose jutting out like a sword-blade. Her hair was entirely silver, unlike Withen who had barely a white hair, and despite her compact, muscular body she moved a little more slowly and stiffly. Her eyes had played over the children lined up in front of her, and her expression was one of distaste.

“So this is Vanyel,” he remembered her saying, her voice as dry as the rest of her. “A pretty boy. I hope he’s more than ornamental.” 

Vanyel had stiffened at her words, and felt himself flushing, even as he tried to tell himself he didn’t care what this old woman thought anyway. He had raised his chin tried to meet her impassive, oddly pale brown eyes with his own cool, polite gaze – even back then he had been practicing in the mirror, the cousins seemed to leave him alone if their teasing didn’t result in a reaction.

She had _laughed_ , and turned away from him as though he were the least interesting thing in the room, and he had felt his flush deepen as she smiled stiffly at his mother. “Treesa. Has he shown any Gifts?”

“He can certainly sing!” Mother had simpered. “And play as well as any minstrel – my ladies and I do so love his music.” Vanyel had caught his father’s stormy expression from the corner of his eye, even back then Father disapproved of his interest in music, and tried not to react to that either.

Savil had sniffed, and Vanyel remembered thinking that Treesa hadn’t answered the question she had intended, though he wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She had turned back to him then, and this time those eyes had stared _through_ him – it had reminded him unpleasantly of the kitchen cats, and they way they would look at a mouse they were stalking. He’d noticed a flicker of interest, and then– “Pity. He’s got the potential, but nothing active. It’s too bad, I had hoped at least one of your offspring would be Gifted, you certainly have enough to spare one for the Queen’s service. But the girls don’t even have potential, the other boys are worse than this one, and this one is only decorative.”

Her eyes had dismissed him instantly, then. “My lady, I’ve seen what I needed, and there are places I need to be. I won’t stress your hospitality any further.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Vanyel pulled himself out of the memory, his mother’s hysterics had faded away into the distance. Alone, he pulled his knees into his chest and hugged himself, feeling cold despite the hot, unmoving air. His eyes burned.

 _It shouldn’t hurt. I don’t have to care._ He had been thinking that phrase over and over for months.

But he did care, and it did hurt. Father had given up on him, and Mother didn’t care enough to make a really effort at arguing back – she’d lasted barely five minutes.

He wasn’t really surprised, though. Nothing had been going right for months – for years, really, but it had been worse since Lissa left to train for the Guard at Brendan Keep with Lord Trevor Corey. She was the only one who had ever really cared about him. It was unfair of him – better one of them was happy than neither of them, and he knew from her letters that she was happier than she had ever been before – but he still felt bitter about it. He missed her, and an ugly part of him found it hard to cope with her happiness when he was so lonely.

He dug his nails into his palms. _I miss you so much, Lissa, why did you have to leave?_

For a moment he could almost hear her voice in his ear; he knew exactly what she’d say. _Think on the bright side, Van._ It might be better in Haven. It wasn’t like it could be any worse. And Savil might be a dried-up old stick who had dismissed him in a moment, but Lissa wanted to _be_ her, even if he had no idea why – it was unfair to weigh his sister’s judgment so lightly. Anyway, even by the worst accounts, Savil was scrupulously, boringly _fair_. He wasn’t sure if someone as cold as she seemed could even be capable of holding a grudge – and, hells, if he hadn’t been up against the weight of fifteen years of Withen’s disappointment, he might have fared better in his father’s eyes.

Father would tell Savil the worst about him, but from what he’d heard, neither of them particularly liked the other, and somehow he didn’t think Savil would take anyone’s word as holy writ – especially not her brother’s, if there was real enmity between them.

 _Am I just rationalizing, hoping for the best?_ He had done that too much in the past, desperate that _this_ time he would see the light of approval in Father’s eyes, and it stung when he was wrong again and again. Building up false hopes to have them dashed – it wasn’t worth it, and besides, it was _stupid_ , it was how you made mistakes. _Like how I misjudged Jervis._

No – it was always best to believe the thing that was true, even if it was inconvenient – even if it hurt. Herald Seldasen said that in his book on military tactics, along with a great many nuggets of wisdom that Vanyel had carefully tried to digest – he had certainly gotten in enough trouble quoting the book to Father, even though it was part of his assigned reading!

But it was so hard to tell. He knew Father all too well, but he knew his aunt barely at all, only through stories and hearsay. He couldn’t really guess what she would do. The uncertainty was uncomfortable, almost worse than plain despair–

_I won’t get my hopes up._

He lost his grip on the tears, then, and for a few moments he let them fall, he feeling as bleak as he ever had. _No one loves me. Only Lissa, and she left me here alone anyway._

But crying wouldn’t solve any of his problems. He took in a deep, shaky breath, let it out, swallowed a few times and blinked until his vision cleared.

 _I don’t care. I_ won’t _care._

 

* * *

 

He waited in his hideaway until the noises of weapons practice had ceased, working through the fingering exercises and the simple songs he could still play, and trying to weave a cloak of indifference around his thoughts. When the sun was halfway down the sky, he dared slipping back to his room to begin packing. By suppertime, he felt numb inside. It was strange to walk through the hall to his place at the low table – as though all the faces he’d known his whole life had become those of strangers.

“Where were _you_ this afternoon?” Mekeal said jovially next to him, reaching for the jug of watered wine.

He turned a polite gaze on his brother. “Does it matter? It’s no secret how I feel about Jervis, and how he feels about me.”

Mekeal took a noisy slurp from his soup. “Well, it’s on your head, but you can’t avoid him forever and he’s going to be furious. Might break your other arm.”

Vanyel shrugged and reached for the soup tureen. He had no appetite, but he wasn’t about to give anyone the satisfaction of noticing that.

Seated next to Father at the high table, his mother was smiling, tittering politely in response to an unheard joke, all trace of hysterics gone. A younger Vanyel might have taken that as a sign of hope, that she would only look _happy_ if she’d gotten her way and managed to convince Withen not to send him away. He knew better now.

He shrugged and forced down a spoonful of tasteless, lukewarm soup. _I don’t care. They can’t hurt me._ He ate in silence, and watched his brother, eating noisily, gesturing wildly, deep in some tale or other that he didn’t bother to listen to. It was strikingly how closely Meke resembled their father, he thought. _I bet that’s why Father thinks the sun rises and sets with him._

At the end of the meal, just before the dessert course, his father rose and addressed the hall. “After due consideration,” he rumbled, “I have decided that it is time to send my eldest for some further education. Tonight will be Vanyel’s last night among us. Tomorrow he will be departing for Haven, where my sister Savil has agreed to train him in governance and take guardianship of him until he is of age.”

Dead silence. Withen sat down.

Treesa burst into the shrillest wail he’d heard from her yet, and knocked her chair over backwards as she stormed away. Any other day, it would have elicited _some_ reaction from Vanyel, at least grated on his nerves. Today it was...well, a little funny, in a sad way. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was hoping to achieve. Pity?

The initial silence became whispers, then chatter that grew louder and louder, and he felt half the eyes in the room on him. Father was looking resolutely across the room at nothing in particular, and after a moment he lifted his cup and took a long drink.

Vanyel let it slide over him. _Let them stare. Why would I care?_ The mantra was wearing thin – there was a cold weight in his stomach, and his face felt hot and tight. He kept the mask firmly in place. 

Father was talking to Father Leren, now, who was seated opposite him. But the priest’s eyes looked past him, met Vanyel’s, and he smiled slyly. Vanyel’s stomach turned over. Although their interactions had been few – he had gone to the priest for advice once, received only a sanctimonious lecture on ‘being a man’, and avoided him since – Leren bothered him more than Father, more than Jervis, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. He hadn’t liked that smug, secretive smile at all.

 _If Mother’s right and he talked Father into this, I figure he feels quite proud of himself right now._ Well, he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of any reaction from Vanyel. He forced himself to meet the priest’s eyes for a long moment with the mask in place before he looked away.

He stayed at the table through the dessert course, smiling vacantly and moving pieces of pie from plate to mouth, until the adults began to stand up and retire. The youngsters were forming into groups now, and even the girls had closed ranks, blatantly excluding him, with whispers and points and the occasional malicious glance.

 _About time they leave me alone_ , he thought, very deliberately. _I don’t care anyway._

When he judged the appropriate interval had past, he stood up smoothly and walked across the hall with his head held high, daring his siblings and cousins to meet his eye. No one did.

The mask started to crack once he reached the dark corridor, and as soon as he was out of sight, he ran. His room welcomed him, not much of a sanctuary, but something. With the door firmly closed behind him, he lost the battle with his tears. He sank down with his back against the closed door and sobbed, but silently – he wouldn’t let _anyone_ have the satisfaction of hearing him cry, not even the servants.

More than anything in the world, he wished Lissa were there. It wasn’t like she could solve any of his problems, any more than he could solve hers, but he trusted her. He could cry in front of her. And she had a sort of ruthless pragmatism. He could almost hear her voice in his ear, now. _Father’s a fathead, Van. Do you want to let him make you feel this way, though? What do you want to_ do?

After a few minutes he managed to force the tears down. He still hurt, underneath, but he wasn’t going to go poking at that; he didn’t really want to know what he would unearth.

 _I can do this. I’ve survived worse._ And he’d done it without the cloak and mask of indifference that he had been practicing these last few months.

And maybe a new environment would shake him out of the listlessness that gripped him now every time he tried to think about his future. His books claimed there was always something to be done, even in the worst of situations – but that didn’t mean there were any _good_ options, did it? He had considered running away, oh, he had considered it so many times, but sleeping on the floors of taverns and playing clumsily for farmers and drunks was no life he wanted. Lissa still spoke in her letters of persuading Father to let him come to Brendan Keep and train in the style of fighting she was learning there, but he knew it was wishful thinking, an unspoken lie between them that he couldn’t bear to shatter.

He sat up. Sleep seemed hopeless. It was pitchy dark in the room.

 _I should finish packing._ Half of his clothes were still laid out on the floor, and he was undecided on Woodlark, his lute. Father would want to prevent him from taking music with him to his new life, and he might be angry enough to smash the instrument. At least here in his room, it would probably be safe until he returned – if he returned. 

_No. I don’t want a reason to want to come back here, and I wouldn’t put it past Father to have a servant ‘accidentally’ break it._

He sat up and massaged his forehead with both hands for a moment, hating the tears that had already sprung too near to the surface. _I need to think about something else._ Something with no relation to Father. The quiet voice in the back of his mind pinged a warning, that now he was letting them constrain his thoughts as well as his movements to a narrower circle. He pushed the voice away.

He stood up, opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty, but the closest lantern was all the way at the end. He took a candle, schooled his face back into the same mask of cool indifference, and set out with his head held high.

He had just lit the candle at the lantern and begun his stately progress back when a voice spoke out of the shadows. “Heya, Vanyel.”

His heart raced, but he managed not to jump; he turned around slowly and calmly. “Hello?”

“S’me. Joserlin.”

He held the candle up, and placed the face as belonging to the cousin and fosterling who shared a room with Mekeal. Joserlin was a fairly new arrival to Forst Reach, and not a close cousin nor really a fosterling, since he was already of age – Vanyel couldn’t remember the full story behind it. The difference showed. Jos was as meaty as any of the cousins, but he was taller even than Withen, with hair and eyes of a darker shade and a subtly different cast to his features. All the Ashkevrons looked the same.  _Except for me._

“Yes?” he said suspiciously.

“May I speak to you a moment?” In the flickering candlelight, Joserlin’s expression looked friendly and open, with no hint of the jealously or distaste of the others. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had played nice in order to catch him off guard and show him up as a fool, though.

“Why?” he heard himself say, hard and flat.

Joserlin stepped closer, and lowered his voice. “Them all cousins are burning with jealousy. Can’t figure what in Kernos’ name the old man’s rewarding you for. Me, I figured it wasn’t a reward as such. Thought I might have a piece or two of advice for you.”

Vanyel was torn. He didn’t _want_ anyone’s advice, and he didn’t want to let this false-cousin humiliate him to get in closer with the true cousins – but, the quiet voice said, Jos was eighteen, nearly grown, and he’d never seen him clustered into one of those little cliques.By outside appearance, he was friendly to the others, but kept himself at a distance.

 _He can’t hurt me. I don’t care what he thinks. And there’s a chance he’ll say something unexpected._ There had been a lot of the unexpected going on today, in the argument he’d overheard between Mother and Father, and he could feel those new observations floating around in the back of his mind, looking for a place to stick. _Herald Seldasen would say, you never turn your back on a chance to learn something. All information is worth having._

That decided him. “All right, come on, but I haven’t got much time. I have to pack.”

Joserlin ducked his head and followed him to his room. He shut the door behind both of them, but didn’t pull the bolt, and began lighting the other candles in their sconces.

He offered the other boy the chair by the window, but didn’t feel much like sitting, and Jos remained standing as well. “Vanyel,” he said after a moment, “I... I’m not sure exactly how to say this. The others don’t much like you. I saw that the day I arrived. I can’t much blame them, you’re an arrogant little bastard and you do put on airs like you were Queen Elspeth herself. You don’t make it any easier for yourself, there.” He took a half step forwards. “But then I figured, looks like no one here’s ever given you a chance. Wouldn’t blame you for doing anything you could to stop them rubbing that pretty nose of yours in the dirt.”

Vanyel nodded, as impassively as he could – he was stung, but he wouldn’t give Joserlin the satisfaction of seeing that, and he _did_ want to hear what else Jos had to say.

Jos shrugged. “Your father may be a fine Lord Holder, but he’s an unreasonable old bastard, he’s gotten an idea in his head of what a son of his _ought_ to be like and he’s not going to let anything so trivial as the real world budge it. That’s not your fault, that’s just the raw deal you were handed. And it’d be damned hard to change your strategy _here_ , not when you’ve let all those blockhead cousins of yours get it set in their thick heads that you’re a prig who thinks he’s better than them. But a word of advice. I figured you could use a friend or two where you’re going. I can’t tell you how to live your life, but – walk around with your nose in the air like you’ve been doing, and I dare say you won’t get that.”

Vanyel couldn’t for the life of him come up with a reply.

“Think on it, will you?” Jos said, and he moved to the door. A moment later, it had opened and shut behind him.

Vanyel waited until his footsteps had moved away, then moved to where he had laid out his clothes and began half-heartedly packing. _That was not what I was expecting._

The confusion pushed aside the pain – not easing it, but putting it away for later. It had always been easier when he was trying to solve an immediate mystery. And there were several new puzzle pieces to look at today.

What did Jos want? He couldn’t figure out what the young man hoped to gain by...no, standing up for him wasn’t the right word for it. But it hadn’t been a lecture either. Nor exactly an overture of friendship – Vanyel would have been automatically suspicious of anything that looked like one, but this didn’t.

Maybe he just wanted to. People didn’t always do things for reasons...

But that felt false. Something in Joserlin’s manner said he was the sort of person who did things for reasons.

He sighed and carefully rolled one of his tunics, this one a deep blue silk. Father probably wished he could forbid him to bring his fine clothes, but Vanyel would have to be dressed for the capital, if he wasn’t to shame the family, and the stuff his brothers wore wouldn’t be presentable. That was one small satisfaction.

It wasn’t long before everything that he wanted – and dared bring – was in one of the four travel packs lined up on the floor. Vanyel stood up, sighed, and sat down on the bed, his eyes moving inexorably to the lute sitting in the windowsill.

He didn’t dare bring it... Did he? Father would– But every time he tried to think of what Father would or wouldn’t do, how he would respond to one provocation or another, his mind skidded and lost purchase. The uncertainty was almost worse than despair. Father was disappointed in his eldest son, he knew _that_ , but if he didn’t know better, it sounded like he took some of the blame for it himself?

Which made no sense.

Maybe Father was just trying to get Mother on his side, by sounding reasonable and kind... It wasn’t quite right, not a full answer, but Vanyel was tired of thinking in circles. 

 _I’ll never understand him_ , he thought tiredly, and flopped down on the bed, fully clothed, pulling the blanket half over his body.

Sleep was a long time coming.

 

* * *

 

_He was in a place of featureless white. It was very cold; there was the impression of snow blowing. He was alone, completely alone. He could have been the last person left in the world. The cold seemed to numb all of him, leaving no pain, no real feelings. He felt...not quite peaceful, but something close._

Vanyel woke an hour or so before dawn, drifting slowly to awareness. Some of the memory of cold and numbness stayed with him, and it felt a little easier to wear the cloak of indifference over all his thoughts.

He dressed slowly, methodically, in a set of riding leathers he’d had dyed black without his father’s permission, and examined himself in the mirror. His hair fell to his shoulders in blue-black waves, contrasting sharply with his pale skin – so different from everyone else in the family. The colour and cut of the clothing made him look taller, older – he felt like it made the planes of his face harder and his silver eyes colder. Lady Treesa wouldn’t have liked it, no, but he looked like a person who might well not care at all about his own father’s feelings.

 _Good_ , he thought tightly. He de-tuned and packed up the lute with calm, practiced motions. It was a surprisingly easy decision, in the end – either Father would let him bring it, or he’d take it away – if he took it away, that was no worse than if Vanyel had left it to begin with, and if he did order it smashed, well, that wasn’t all that much worse, and Father would make himself petty in front of anyone around to see. Treesa might never forgive him if she found out, at the very least she would give him the cold shoulder for weeks – the thought made Vanyel smile again, bitterly.

Besides, for all that he loved the instrument, it was only wood, and replacing it would be far easier than replacing his damaged hand.

He didn’t feel much like waiting in the room, and he suspected Withen would be taking breakfast in the kitchen with the servants. After one final glance around the room where he had slept since he left the nursery, he slung the lute case over his back, shouldered his packs one at a time and carried them into the hall, then closed the door behind him.

Few of the servants were awake, but there was light under several of their doors. He rapped one of them, and waited until a man emerged, irritable until he recognized Vanyel, at which point he bobbed his head and looked at him expectantly.

“As you know,” he said coolly, but politely, “I am departing this morning. Please see that my bags are brought to the stable, and have the stableboy saddle my horse. I will meet you there shortly. Thank you.” He nodded, waited for the man’s rushed acknowledgment, and then proceeded to the stairs with his spine erect and his head held high.

He spent the walk to the kitchen steeling himself to face Father, practicing the words in his head. He’d run it through in his head multiple times, with various approaches. Cold and remote? Cold and contemptuous? In the end, he had decided to aim for the same cool civility he’d used with the servants.

Father was seated at one of the wooden tables, wearing the same coarse brown tunic and trews that he always did, bread and butter laid out before him, drinking from a mug of tea and talking freely to the senior cook. He had always prided himself on being approachable, almost just another common man. His back was to Vanyel.

Vanyel caught one of the kitchen boys’ eyes and gestured for a cup of tea. He waited until the boy had brought him his own steaming mug and rushed off to fetch more bread fresh from the oven. Then he approached.

“Good morning, Father.” He held the cup very deliberately at about the level of his breastbone – it gave him something to do with his hands. He waited as Withen turned, expectant, and froze, startled shock in his eyes – then he nodded politely to his father. “As you see, I am quite ready to leave. I would like if we could make good time today. The servants are bringing my things down to the stable.” He took a sip of the tea, deliberately savouring it. “A spot of breakfast seemed like good preparation for the road.”

If Withen’s jaw wasn’t quite hanging open, it was clearly only by sheer effort of will. He looked gobsmacked. Vanyel deliberately lounged against the brick wall a little – it was warm, from the ovens – and let his eyes pass over the faces of the kitchen servants without appearing to deliberately look. Most of them were trying very hard to look busy at their various tasks – one girl was sweeping a single, very clean patch of floor repeatedly with obvious concentration. He thought he saw a small, amused smile flit across the head cook’s face before it was suppressed.

 _Huh._ He had never thought of the servants as being on his side – and they weren’t, exactly, but they weren’t _not_ on his side either. He kept his distance and didn’t make much effort to be friendly to most of them, but he had never played cruel tricks like his brothers had, and he was unfailingly polite to his mother’s female servants, at least, who often came to her solar to listen to his music.

The boy brought out another basket of steaming bread rolls, along with a simple assortment of cheese and boiled eggs on a little tray, and Vanyel uncurled himself and sat down in front of it, across the wide table from his father. He wasn’t hungry at all, but he broke open a roll anyway and spread it with butter. It was all part of the performance, and he might be glad of it a few hours from now on the road. He wasn’t sure whom Father would send to accompany him, but he was sure the journey had not been planned for his comfort.

Withen finally managed to find his voice. “Boy, I hope you don’t expect you’ll have all day to spend lounging about playing that lute of yours!”

It was about what he’d expected, his father trying to regain the upper hand. He shrugged. “I am sure I will be very busy with my studies and training,” he said politely. “I am quite prepared for that.”

There was another long, awkward silence. Well, it was awkward for Withen, anyway – his face had reddened a little. Vanyel only took another bite of the roll, trying to look like he was enjoying it while he choked it down.

Withen stood up abruptly. “Boy! Sun’s up – don’t dawdle.” He stuffed the last of his roll into his mouth, then drained his tea, and headed for the door.

“Of course, Father.” Vanyel stood up. He left his own half-eaten roll, and took the mug of tea with him.

The sun was not in fact quite up yet, though the sky was already light, pale pink and gold spreading across the horizon. Father got another shock once they reached the stables. One of the stableboys, a lanky red-haired lad who Vanyel had actually been on fairly good terms with in the past, had saddled Star and brought her out to wait at the door. Just inside the stable waited a fat, aged pony, saddled and ready, clearly the mount that had been intended for Vanyel. Another planned humiliation – to make him ride into Haven on a beast his younger brothers his already outgrown.

Two armsmen in brown riding leathers were waiting beside their own saddled mounts. Their bags and Vanyel’s had already been loaded onto the three mules tethered out on the grass.

Vanyel took Star’s halter from the stableboy, patted the lad’s shoulder with a smile, and waved away the hand he held out, mounting unaided and effortlessly.

With his head now above Father’s, it felt even easier to have the advantage. He nodded politely, again, nodded to the two armsmen, then took the reins.

“Wait!” Withen barked. Vanyel shrugged and turned Star’s head back, soothing her with a pat on the neck. “I–” He saw his father’s shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “Son, I hope you find your time in Haven...instructive.”

It was a barbed remark, but Vanyel only smiled. “Thank you, Father. I am sure I will. After all, I may well be able to train with the Weaponsmaster who trains Heralds. And I hear the Palace has an excellent library.” Give Father _that_ to chew on.

Father was almost spluttering, but he held his tongue. In fact, he didn’t seem to be able to think of anything to say – his face went red, then pale, but he was silent.

Vanyel only waited, politely attentive, until the awkwardness hung heavy enough to cut in the air, and the stableboys _and_ the armsmen were looking at the ground and fidgeting.

“I wish you good health, Father,” he said, perfectly cool, undeniably polite – then he turned Star towards the road, away from his home, and urged her into a trot, then a canter. Star loved to run, and she broke into a gallop of her own accord, leaving the armsmen with their mules struggling to catch up.

Vanyel reined Star in before they reached the edge of the forest – he wouldn’t put it past Father to have warned the armsmen that he might try to escape, and he had no desire to endure the humiliation of them trying to _catch_ him. But with the cool wind in his hair, and the golden light just breaking over the horizon, and the ox-stunned look on Father’s face, there was a faint but definitely feeling of satisfaction floating over his mantle of indifference.

...Underneath, there was still an ocean of pain, but that was neither here nor there.


	3. Chapter Two

Herald-Mage Savil Ashkevron pushed open the door to the Companions’ stables and stepped inside. It was cool and dim, and smelled of clean straw and clean horse. Companions never needed their stalls mucked out; after all, they weren’t really horses, for all that they looked the same from a distance.

“Savil!” Herald Tantras, dark and handsome, jumped up from his seat on a hay bale to greet her. He had only been in Whites for three years now, all in peacetime, and he was still full of puppy enthusiasm.

She nodded to him, and gripped his arm for a moment longer than she usually would. “Heya, Tran. Didn’t know you were back in Haven?”

“Got back yesterday!” He sighed happily. “I had the longest bath.”

She smiled, remembering the simple joy she used to take in returning to the comforts of Haven. _I’m used to it now,_ she thought, _I’ve gotten soft. And old._

 _:Not so old:_ her Companion, Kellan, said in her head. : _I know you could still beat Tran in the salle. Aren’t you going to come say hello?:_

She nodded again to Tantras and turned in the direction of the stalls. Herald-Mage Kairin and her student, in Whites so new they still looked stiff, were sitting on another bale. Someone had dragged in a table, and there was a keg of ale and several bottles of wine. The setup gave her a little ache of nostalgia for years past.

 _:Coming, love:_ she sent. _:Remember when Elspeth and Lancir and I used to have these parties?:_ She felt out of place, now, by far the oldest in the room. She didn’t know any of the new generation of Heralds very well, but Tantras had invited her colleague and friend Herald Jaysen, and Jaysen had persuaded her to come. For old times sake, he said, though he was almost two decades younger than she was and his promotion to Whites still felt recent. _Gods, it must be nearly twenty years ago, though!_

Old times. She remembered when Elspeth was still just the Heir, before Lance had inherited the position of Queen’s Own, back when they were all just plain Heralds. When they could still stay up dancing all night. When had she last danced?

Kellan nosed his way out of his stall as she approached; it was set up with a rope to undo the latch, so he could come and go as he pleased. He lowered his muzzle and she laid her forehead against his, reaching to bury her fingers in his mane, sighing. Forty-five years together, she thought, and somehow he could still make her feel like a girl.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, looked up. “Jay!”

He bent and kissed her; she wasn’t normally one for public displays of affection, but this hardly counted as public. “It’s good to see you,” she said, pulling away. “I didn’t know the youngsters were still having parties in here!”

One side of his mouth pulled up. “Oh, it’ll never stop. Come, let me get you a drink.”

“I shouldn’t have too much. I’ve got work to do. You still wanted me to look at the proposal on road repairs for this year, right?”

“Only if you’ve got time.”

“I’ve got time. For now.” She groaned. “Jay, did I tell you? My damned brother’s sending my nephew here to foster. His eldest.”

“Oh?” Jaysen sounded politely interested, a little absent. He squatted by the little table. “Ale or wine?”

“Wine, please.” She sighed. “Wants me to train him in governance. What he really wants is for me to make a man of him, which unfortunately I’m not sure is possible.”

“No? What’s the lad like?”

“I mean, I’ve only met him once, and for all of five minutes. He’s his mother’s pet. Apparently he hates weapons training. Can’t entirely blame him, my brother hired on this awful old mercenary as weapons master.” She shrugged. “Guess they had some kind of history together or something. The old man fights well enough, I’ve sparred with him, but he shouldn’t be allowed around children.”

Jaysen handed her a brimming cup. “The boy isn’t exactly a child, though. He must be almost of age now?”

She couldn’t remember telling Jaysen anything about her family, but she must have at some point. “He’s fifteen.” She took a sip, sighed in appreciation. “How did we get the good vintage for this?”

“Herald-Mage Kairin’s family has a vinyard. Anyway. What did you think of Lord Everard’s motion to do a re-minting?”

She groaned. Ever since she’d been permanently stationed in Haven, years ago now, she had been roped into attending Council meetings as a representative of the Heraldic Circle. She was an obvious pick, she had more seniority than anyone except Elspeth or Lancir now, but it wasn’t her favourite pastime by any means. “Well, it’s clearly self-serving. He holds the rights to three mints down south.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think. “Um. It has been a while.”

“It’s been a stable reign.” Jaysen grunted. “Not looking forward to the end of it. Darvi’s a good kid, but he’s not Elspeth.”

The Heir to the throne of Valdemar was hardly a kid, Savil thought. He had to be pushing forty by now! He had experience administering the northern province, he had been in Whites for coming on twenty years – he was going to be a good King. Someday. Hopefully not for another decade.

“Elspeth’s always been conservative on this,” she said thoughtfully. She shrugged. “Everard claims there’s a shortage of coin and it’s damaging the merchant trade in his region, but I was never very good with the maths there. I could have a look at the circuit reports if you want, run some numbers.” The Heralds on circuit collected a standard list of information, including on wages and the price of some standard goods.

She’d had the thought that it was a lot easier to implement a re-coining in Valdemar, a kingdom tied together by a network of Mindspeaking Heralds, than it would be in, say, Rethwellan or Karse. Jaysen could have a message to the southern border in a few candlemarks, not the weeks it would take to travel by horse.

Jaysen nodded. “I might take you up on that, if you’re sure you have time. Could run it past that clerk in the Archives, too, what’s-her-name.” He took a long pull from his own tumbler of ale. “Anyway, I’m boring you. How are your trainees?”

Savil looked around for a place to sit, and settled onto an unoccupied bale of hay. Jaysen, after a moment, sat at her feet.

“Coming along, coming along,” she said. “Poor Mardic and Donni still can’t get the hang of concert work. You’d think being lifebonded would help, but no.”

Jaysen’s shoulders twitched. “Honestly, Savil, I never got the hang of it either. It’s a Hawkbrother thing.”

She arched her back, feeling her spine pop, and took another sip of wine. “I mean, yes, I did learn a lot of what I know with the Tayledras. No reason why anyone can’t learn, though.” She sighed. “Tylendel still has more power than he knows what to do with. Although it’s going on six months since he last lost his temper in my quarters and broke something. Got to be a record.”

Jaysen looked up at her, frowning. “That boy’s trouble.”

She sighed. “Oh, Jay. You just… He can’t help who he is, all right? He’s a good lad. He tries really hard. And you know stronger Gifts are harder to control.” She knew it wasn’t ‘Lendel’s Gifts that Jaysen was alluding to, but the rest was even less his business to criticize and she was tired of it.

He fell silent, but at least he had the grace to look a little abashed.

“Can I sit here?”

Savil looked up, glad for the distraction. “Oh. Heya, Keiran.” 

The Lord Marshal’s Herald, a sturdy fair-haired woman with healthy pink cheeks, settled herself on the straw. “Good to see you taking a break for once, Savil.”

People always confused Keiran and Kairin with each other, what with their names being so similar, but they were nothing alike – Herald-Mage Kairin was tiny and dark, and she always looked nervous, despite her twenty years of field experience. As for Keiran, she had only been in Whites for four years, and she was one of those rare Heralds who had been Chosen as an adult, at nearly twenty-four and already a junior captain in the Guard. She was perfect for her position, for all her youth – she had no strong Gifts and could only Mindspeak with her Companion, but she had experience and nerves of steel.

“You saw Alia just got her Whites?” she said.

Savil nodded. “I was on the committee that passed her.” The girl was only seventeen, gods, the same age as Tylendel, but she had been Chosen young, at just eleven. And, to be honest, her weaker Mage-gift had been easier to train. “Kairin’s taking her out on her internship circuit next week. Up north, I think.”

“That’s good. We’re still shorthanded over there.”

Savil blinked. She hadn’t had a chance to look at deployments in a while, but– “Aren’t we up to over a hundred of us, now?”

“A hundred and fifteen full Heralds, forty-one trainees,” Jaysen said. “Thank the gods they added the new Heralds’ wing when they did.”

Thank the gods indeed. Even five years ago they had already been crammed in like peas in a pod, her sharing a room with Jaysen, and now she had her own full suite with four bedrooms, one of them empty ever since Dominick had gone into his Whites a year ago. Which, unfortunately, meant no good excuse to turn down her brother’s request.

“I didn’t realize there were that many.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Can’t be much more than thirty mages among us, though?”

“Twenty-nine, with Alia. Not counting trainees."

“Huh.” That wasn’t any higher than it had been ten years ago, though there had been well under a hundred full Heralds then.

“That’s compared to over sixty Mindspeakers, although there’s a lot of overlap. Would be nice if more of them had a range over a mile, though.”

She tried to do the maths in her head, but failed. In any case, a definite uptick in Choosings; forty-plus was a lot of trainees. “Jay, how many unbonded Companions are there in the herd?” It had been remarked by the Chroniclers centuries ago that extra Heralds tended to be Chosen well in advance of chaotic or dangerous times when they would be needed, so changes in the relative number of Choosings were often a source for speculation.

“Um. Let me check.” His face went blank for a moment and she knew he was Mindspeaking with Felar, his own Companion. “Huh. One. Still Yfandes.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t uncommon for Companions to spend five years or so unbonded, but for Yfandes it must have been going on ten. She wondering if there were Companions who never Chose anyone. “New Companion births?”

Jaysen closed his eyes. “…Definitely up. By a lot. Twenty foals this year.” Which meant over a third of the female Companions had given birth. Come to think of it, she did remember sitting foal-watch more often than usual. Thank the gods that Kellan was a stallion and she never had that to worry about.

Keiran watched them, clearly interested. Jaysen shrugged.

“Felar says the numbers go all over the place. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I think a lot of the mares try to time their foals so they’ll be age-mates, so you see these ups and downs over the years.”

She took another sip of wine and looked up, becoming aware of a murmur of voices. The room was filling up with faces. Young faces, most of them barely familiar, a mass of healthy, fit bodies dressed in white. _Gods, they make me feel old._

“Our borders have grown a fair bit in the last ten years,” Jaysen reminded her. “Especially to the south. That’s the main reason why we’re still shorthanded, even though it’s been peacetime. Likely the Companion herd is still trying to catch up.”

And maybe that explained the relatively lower prevalence of the Mage-gift, if Valdemar was expanding into new lands, different populations…

But Karse, their southern neighbour, had mages.

She sighed and put the thoughts aside. No point in borrowing trouble. She was here to relax and have fun.

 

* * *

 

They did in fact make good time on the first leg, even if the armsmen made no attempt at good conversation. Vanyel was relieved, because he had begun to feel uneasy as soon as they crossed into the gloom of the forest. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was making his skin crawl. The forest was too quiet, with only the occasional, distant birdcall. And he would have sworn he saw shadows keeping pace with them through the screen of brambles on either side of the narrow, rutted road.

The forest was hunted regularly, he reminded himself. It supplied half the annual meat eaten at both Forst Reach and the neighbouring holding of Prytheree Ford. That just by itself would explain why the local wildlife might be frightened away by their passing. And the shadows could well just be tricks of the light – their own shadows cast on the undergrowth, maybe? Except there was precious little sunlight to cast any kind of shadow...

Even though the arguments he told himself were reasonable, and he had no real basis to feel uncomfortable, he had the feeling that they were rationalizing – that he was trying to convince himself that the forest was safe, rather than wondering whether it was...

Vanyel was blessed, or cursed, with an unusually vivid imagination, and right now it was eager to fill in the blanks. It was the same reason he had never been able to enjoy the sorts of conversations his brothers did, about glorious battles – he had read a great many ballads and historical accounts of so-called great battles, and he could picture the end result, the wounded and the dead, the mud and gore and flies, with all too much detail. _Why anyone ever goes to war, I still don’t understand._

He had read a number of old ballads and stories about dangerous creatures dwelling in forests, too...

 _Stop it,_ he told his mind firmly. _You’re being childish_. He tried to drill down on the unease, following the thread of it in his mind. Maybe this was just his anxiety about his future in Haven and his reception with Savil, or discomfort at the way his guards ignored him except for surreptitious glances when they thought he wasn’t looking, making itself known another way...

But when he focused down on the feeling, all he got was... Not thoughts, not beliefs about what might be in the forest or worries about what might happen later – just a strange tension, in his body as much as his mind, like a harp string pulled tight through his insides, the faint impression of something like pressure on his skin.

 _Well, I suppose I have every reason to be tense_. He tried to loosen up, putting himself through the limited sort of stretches one could do on horseback, clenching and relaxing each muscle one at a time. It helped, a little, but the forest was still wearing on his nerves, and he hoped they wouldn’t halt until they had crossed the forest.

They did pause briefly, for the horses’ sake, and he went through a few more exercises and stretches in between bolting bites of cold meat and bread and drinking from his waterskin. The guards watched him oddly, but he reminded himself that he didn’t care how strange they thought he was.

Just as the woods began to darken, he saw the ground open up ahead of them, and urged Star forwards in eager relief. The tension did seem to drain away then, leaving his neck a little sore from his constant attempts to stretch and loosen it. He was even happier to see an inn up ahead, clearly their intended destination for the night.

They led the horses to the side courtyard in front of the stables, and Vanyel dismounted with a groan of relief, much more sore than he expected. Then again, he had been missing his formerly daily rides for several months, ever since the Jervis Incident. He held Star’s reins and tried to stretch his aching thighs and back without indulging in any overly embarrassing positions.

The two armsmen ignored him completely – they gathered in a quick conference, then the slightly older and stockier man made for the inn itself while the second guard took the reins of the two old cobs and whistled for a stableboy. The mules stood politely a little distance off, stamping their feet a little.

Vanyel realized that he still didn’t know their names.

It rankled. He started to turn away deliberately and school his face to cool indifference – but something nagged. Something to do with what Jos had said...

 _You don’t make it any easier for yourself_.

He didn’t care what the stupid guards thought of him. They were just armsmen, barely a step above dirt-grubbing farmers. But...did he really _prefer_ to feign boredom and stare at the horizon while they did the necessary work of settling for the night?

No, he decided. He wasn’t just feigning boredom, he _was_ bored, and at the very least the strange anxiety he felt in the forest had shaken loose the listlessness – his hands fairly itched to do something. And the idleness only gave him more room to think, which he didn’t feel like doing. So when a few young stableboys came running – the one who came to him was a girl, actually – he passed off Star’s reins with a smile and a pat on the head for the child, and showed her the spot behind Star’s ears that she loved to have scratched. Then he turned back to the second armsmen, who had begun removing packs from the first mule.

Without saying anything, and trying to keep his face impassive save for the slightest of smiles, he started unbuckling the packs from the second mule. The guard looked up sharply, but Vanyel only nodded to him without changing his expression, and the man shrugged and went back to work.

In just a couple of minutes, they had finished freeing their baggage, another stableboy was herding the mules after the horses, and two more servants had come from inside to help with the bags.

Vanyel picked up one of his own packs and met the armsman’s eyes. _Gods, I need to practice this face in the mirror too, this little smile feels pasted on_. “Shall we proceed, then?”

Uncertainty warred in the man’s eyes, but he couldn’t exactly say no, and after a moment he nodded jerkily and started walking, gesturing to the servants to follow.

 

Vanyel’s good mood, such as it was, didn’t last long.

The inn was huge; easily four times the size of the village inn back at Forst Reach, and furnished as well as many great houses. But his guards had chosen a suite on the second story with his room, windowless, adjoining onto the main room so that the only way out was through it. It was a clear precaution against his running away.

He went to use the privy, and one of the guards _followed_ him. It was the most humiliating thing that had happened to him at least since Jervis’ lecture and beating. He wished he had the composure to throw some of that awkwardness back onto the guard himself, but it was all he could do to keep his face blank and ignore the man.

He requested a bath – and they brought him a tub and hot water rather than let him use the bathing room. It wasn’t a very big tub, and the water wasn’t very hot. When he had finished bathing, he found that they had brought up supper on a tray. They weren’t taking the least chance to let him slip out of their sight.

He made the best of it, eating in silence – as much as he could stomach, anyway – and politely thanking them when he brought the finished tray out to leave for a servant. The two of them looked like men making the best of an undesired situation, too. They couldn’t be happy about being stuck up here rather than joining the drinks and banter in the common room.

Well, let them be unhappy. If they wanted to treat him like a recalcitrant child, they damn well ought to bear the burden of overworked parents.

The quiet voice at the back of his head spoke up, reminded him that they had probably been _ordered_ to take these exact, specific measures by his lord father, whether or not it was something they wanted to do. He pushed the voice away. It was the part of him that tried to be understanding and compassionate, and when had that ever gotten him anywhere?

He said a polite goodnight and closed the door to his room, letting himself sink down onto the bed and stop hiding his exhaustion. 

Aside from the lack of windows and resulting stuffiness, it wasn’t much worse than his own room back at Forst Reach, really. Inventory: one bed, actually quite comfortable; one small wooden table, well if plainly built; one chair, similarly wooden and sturdy. There was no fireplace, but the candles were plentiful, and with the summer heat there was no real need for a fire.

Also: one earthenware jug, and a glass next to it. The jug contained wine, he had sampled it during the meal, and it was easily the worst thing he had tasted all year, but it was just barely drinkable. 

One lute.

Could he play a little, tonight? He tried to decide if he minded the two guards overhearing his fumbles.

No, he decided firmly, pushing down his emotions to the contrary. _Their opinions couldn’t matter less to me_.

So he took the lute out of its case and tuned it carefully, until it rang beautifully in the tiny room – except when his fingers slipped or missed a fingering. The minstrel Shanse had always said he had a natural ear, and Vanyel had ended up tuning all of his instruments, so he’d had plenty of practice.

His stomach was churning – the supper he’d managed to force down wasn’t sitting well – and his emotions were in a tangle. He poured himself a cup of wine, gulped it down before he could taste it, and began the fingering exercises, familiar enough that they were no distraction from his thoughts.

 _I don’t want to think about anything, but that’s probably something I ought to think about, isn’t it?_ It felt like a bad sign, having to duck and avoid even within his own mind.

So. He could be honest with himself, now, when he wasn’t also trying to keep his composure.

He was lonely. Deeply, bitterly lonely. He felt steadier than he had expected, he was able to weather each subtle insult and slight calmly rather than feel it like a knife, but that didn’t mean he felt happy, or hopeful.

_Is it just going to be like this forever? No one who likes me, no one who wants anything to do with me?_

The quiet voice reminded him that even back at Forst Reach, there were plenty of people who liked his company and sought it out, starting with his mother. But– but somehow it felt like that didn’t _count_. They didn’t want to talk to Vanyel; they wanted to look at a handsome boy in pretty clothes, and listen to his pretty music, and have a cooperative partner in the flirting game.

He was sure he could find that sort of friend at the Palace, if Savil gave him any time for a social life. But was it enough?

It was safe, at least. He could playfully flirt with girls just fine from behind his emotional shields – if anything, that was the only way he could do it.

He set the lute down on the bed, massaged his aching fingers, and poured another cup of wine. This one he sipped more slowly, his tastebuds already numbed and no longer objecting to the vinegary stuff, and stared at a candle flame until his eyes blurred.

Of course it wasn’t enough. He could admit that to himself now, halfway through a jug of wine. Seldasen had rude things to say about people who tried to lie to themselves...

_If I could only be a Bard..._

That would be enough, he thought. Even if Father never forgave him or spoke to him again, if he could just be a Bard...

He downed the rest of the cup, took up the lute again, and began playing. His hand seemed to hurt a little less, but he was fumbling as much as ever.

He couldn’t think of a plan – couldn’t really think past arriving in Haven, it seemed. He was too unsure of everything – what sort of things Savil would expect of a “fosterling”, how much she would take Father’s side, what she would expect of him. And he wasn’t in the mood to plan.

 _I’m in the mood to feel sorry for myself. Woe is me_.

The wine had eroded the last of his self-consciousness about the armsmen presumably listening just on the other side of the door. He played and sang quietly, the saddest songs he knew, and let himself shed a tear or two between verses. He drank another cup of wine, leaving the jug three-quarters empty, and played some more until his head started spinning – not altogether unpleasantly – and sleepiness hit him in waves. Then he put the instrument down and made his way to the bed, just a little unsteadily.

He lay on his back, feeling as though the bed was gently rotating under him. Sleep came quickly for the first time in weeks.


	4. Chapter Three

He woke with the memory of a dream flowing away, leaving him with the impression, again, that he had been truly alone. When he sat up cautiously, his head hurt and his stomach was not altogether happy with him; he was about as hungover as he had expected. He felt drained, but not of energy so much as of feelings. Empty, but not in a way that was so unpleasant; it left him feeling as calm and still as frozen water. Nothing would ripple his surface now.

He pulled at the slippery memory of a white horizon and an icy wind. It helped. He thought of Father’s parting verbal blows, and felt hardly a thing.

There were low voices on the other side of the door, which must have been what had awakened him. He hadn’t been trying to listen until he heard his own name.

“...think of this Vanyel, Erek?” one of the men was saying. He thought that voice belonged to the older, sturdier armsman, and he jumped on the name ‘Erek’, tentatively putting it on the younger and thinner manner.

“Honest, Garth, I don’t know what to think.” He had names for both of them now! “Boy’s got his nose in the air, for certain, but he don’t seem so– He don’t seem addlepated.” A thoughtful pause. “Thought he’d be more sullen.”

A month ago, or even two days ago, the overheard words might have stung. Now Vanyel just added them to a mental list, along with the missing names, tagging the words where he’d felt a hint of surprise or confusion. He knew it might well hurt later, but it didn’t now, not really, and there was no point in dwelling further on it.

He stood up and made slightly more noise than he needed to as he unpacked just enough to find a clean shirt and smallclothes. The armsmen got the hint, and their conversation trailed off, then moved to lighter matters, like the apparent charms of a particular maid.

Vanyel nodded politely to the armsmen when he emerged, but made no attempt at conversation. Once he was out of the room, he saw that the sun was still hidden behind the trees. Garth summoned a maid – an older woman, presumably not the attractive one they had spoken of – who brought tea and a simple breakfast, and basins of warm water with towels. They ate, washed up, dressed, and had a servant carrying their packs down to the stable before the sun had risen more than a hand’s breadth above the forest. Vanyel carried his leather tunic over one arm, and detoured to soak his aching head under the stable pump before wringing his hair out and putting it on. Tea and a little breakfast had settled his stomach, and the chill water dealt with his aching temples, so that he felt perfectly ready to mount Star and ride out, setting a brisk pace.

 

* * *

 

The eastern half of the forest was not as bad as the part they had crossed the first day – or maybe it was just that his nerves had settled. He still felt a climbing tension when they crossed into the shadow of the trees – but the shadow was not as deep, and was shot through with sunbeams that pierced the canopy, and the natural sounds of birds and small animals were more plentiful. It was hot enough that when they paused to feed and water the horses, he stripped off his black leather tunic and tucked it into the saddlebags. They left the forest proper an hour or two after midday, and Vanyel relaxed completely.

 _It’s odd. I wouldn’t have thought I’d be so jumpy at the thought of forest monsters, like a little boy..._ He was at least confident that none of his discomfort had been visible.

They rode through farmland now. Garth and Erek seemed more cheerful as well, and made desultory conversation as they passed fields of grain and pastures of sheep and cows. By focusing on the pleasure of the warm sun and Star’s gait under him, rather than their destination, Vanyel relaxed enough to join in with the occasional comment. The armsmen even laughed a time or two, and they no longer felt so much like guards.

They stopped for a hot meal at a tiny village inn an hour or so before sunset, but there were no rooms available, and then continued on until well after dark before reaching the next inn. At least the men included him in their conversation enough that Vanyel had some idea of their progress. Still, he was more than exhausted by the time he and Erek made their way up the narrow stairs to their rooms. This time, two small rooms both opened onto a tiny sitting room; a maid was already laying out a simple, cold meal on a side table, while Garth directed the two servants carrying their bags. He noticed that only Garth’s bags went into the second room, and Erek’s things were being deposited next to the couch in the sitting room.

Vanyel put some limp steamed vegetables and a slice of cold meat on a plate and sat down heavily on the couch, which was narrow and lumpy. He resisted an urge to massage his sore legs, ate quickly, and waited until the servants had left, then waved the two men over and spoke. He had practiced the words several times in his head, with the tone he was aiming for, and he hoped it would come out right.

“I think we all know what’s going on here,” he said, smiling slightly – a smile that cost a great effort, because the cold calm had long since worn off, and he felt more like crying than smiling. “I am sure that my lord father informed you I was likely to try to run away, and instructed you to guard me at all times.” He managed a careless-sounding chuckle. “I assure you, I have no intention of running away. For one, I am sure you’ve spoken to the stablemaster, and I’m not exactly going to head off on foot.” He grinned crookedly. “Besides, I meant what I said, about the library. Haven doesn’t seem like such a bad place to me.”

The armsmen hid their shock better than Father, if they were in fact as surprised as he thought they were, but they watched him warily. He shrugged and stood up.

“I confess that all _I_ want to do right now is seek my bed. But I don’t see why either of you needs to sleep on this awful couch. Or why either of _you_ should be confined to our rooms, for that matter.” He raised one eyebrow – a skill he’d practiced hard on. “Some of the serving-girls we passed downstairs were very pretty.”

He nodded to the two men, and with a final ironic smile, he slipped into his room and closed the door.

...And then listened at the keyhole, because he wasn’t _quite_ as tired as he had made out, and he was very curious about the result of his little experiment.

There was a long silence.

“Well, I never,” Erek said finally.

“Reckon I could do with a beer,” Garth said after a moment.

“I suppose if you’re buying...”

Vanyel heard chuckles from both men, and shuffling footsteps, and finally a door closing. He backed away from the door, and barely had the energy to strip off his riding leathers before collapsing onto the bed. His felt worn out, physically and emotionally.

At the very least, he thought that the two wouldn’t be reporting anything about tonight back to his father.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Vanyel was up with the sun, and before his two guards. He thought he heard someone moving in the outer room, but it turned out to be a very young-looking maid, who had brought up some fresh rolls with butter and a steaming pot of fragrant herb tea. He smiled at her, warmly enough that she ducked and blushed, and asked about bathing.

If there had been any instructions to confine him to the suite, they hadn’t been passed on to her – she only bobbed her head and led him downstairs to the bathing room. Vanyel luxuriated in a real hot bath, and he was back up in their rooms, fully dressed and nursing a mug of tea, when Erek emerged unsteadily from the other room – looking rumpled, very sated, and somewhat worse for wear. He blinked owlishly and ducked his head away from sunbeam streaming into the room. Garth was up a few minutes later, looking just as pleased with himself and even queasier. Vanyel surmised that the two men had made a spectacular night of it – and that they had enjoyed some female company. Hopefully that would have unbent them further, and with any luck their hangovers weren’t miserable enough to make them really cranky...

Neither of them said anything about Vanyel’s freshly-bathed wet hair, either, although it was questionable whether they were in shape to notice.

Needless to say, they did not make an early start of it that day, and there was very little conversation on the road.

 

* * *

 

Vanyel waited on the couch in Savil’s quarters, trying not to fidget or show any other sign of impatience. The guards, who had never really unbent enough to talk to him despite all his efforts, were now fully acting like jailers again. Clearly uncomfortable, they were as stiff as wooden soldiers, and it had been a long and awkward wait.

And he was feeling off balance, not only because of the upcoming meeting, or because of the week they had spent traveling and staying in unfamiliar inns. It was his first time in a large city – in any place larger than Forst Reach Village, a quiet, peaceful place where everyone knew everyone else and recognized the Ashkevrons by sight. Haven was busy, bustling, loud, and dirty. The streets stank, and seemed full of beggars, including a number of ragged, starved-looking children. It had made him very uncomfortable, and he spent most of the trip trying to look away. There were no real beggars in Forst Reach – oh, there were a few old men with missing limbs from past wars, and the usual drunks, but the other villagers seemed to care for them well enough, and he knew that his father provided an annual sum to any of his men who became incapacitated.

Another Herald, a tall, faded looking man in immaculate Whites who had not introduced himself, had brought them to Savil’s suite and directed them to wait, and it must have been almost an hour. Vanyel could feel himself winding up tighter and tighter, and he couldn’t seem to stop worrying, trying to guess what his aunt would say, _why_ she was making them wait so long, whether it was a deliberate slight...

He heard footsteps in the hallway, and tried to relax his spine, desperately pulling on the memory of cold and white and aloneness. The remoteness of the dream was hard to reconcile with the churning anxiety in his stomach – but he finally felt some of the cool calm settle into his chest. He made himself stretch, loosening his neck, shifting his posture until he could at least imagine it looked natural rather than stiff as a board. He _had_ been practicing the smile. He pictured Erek yawning and blinking as he emerged, all rumpled, from the bedroom. The smile became a little more natural.

His Aunt Savil swept into the room.

...He met her gave evenly, and sized her up, noting as many small details as he could. She didn’t look any older. He remembered her eyes being light brown, but now they were an odd mix of striking blue-grey around the pupils, surrounded by a ring closer to hazel. Her Whites were pristine. She held herself very erect, but not stiffly – in fact, based on the way she moved, he decided he would rather not face her in a fight. He remembered her moving a little more awkwardly when she had visited, but perhaps she had just been sore after a day’s riding.

Her nose was as he remembered, jutting out from her face like a hawk’s beak. She wasn’t smiling now, but her mouth and eyes showed the fine lines of someone who smiled as often as they frowned.

He thought he caught several different expressions flitting across her face as those eyes settled on to him. A hint of, not disappointment exactly, but maybe resignation, which seemed to happen as her eyes flitted quickly over his clothing – followed by a narrowing of her eyes and quirking of her mouth that he thought might indicate surprise, maybe even confusion – then the hint of an ironic smile as she took in the two guards.

“Vanyel,” she said finally, probably after only a moment or two.

“Aunt Savil.” He stood up and made a little bow to her – not any kind of fancy Court bow, but a simple gesture of respect. “I thank you for agreeing to help with my education. I imagine you are already very busy.” He managed to make the words come out with no noticeable bitterness or irony. There was no point in alienating Savil any more than he had to – Jos was right about that.

Savil blinked two or three times in a row, and he was certain she was startled, even though her face showed no other sign.

 _She’s very controlled_ , he thought, _no, that’s not quite the right word..._

“You’re welcome,” she said, though with no particular warmth in her voice. She turned to lock eyes with Garth. “Thank you for seeing my nephew here. Neither of us will require your assistance from this point. I recommend the Twin Barrels for tonight, if you’d like a rest before your return journey.”

Erek twitched towards the door, as though eager to escape, but stopped himself. Garth squirmed visibly.

“My lady, we were given instructions. The boy’s horse–”

Vanyel’s heart dropped into his boots. Father wouldn’t have ordered the armsmen to bring Star back to the keep – would he? It seemed that he clearly had.

“His horse stays, of course,” Savil said firmly, and Vanyel noted irritation in her voice. “Vanyel will have classes in equitation. He will need a mount.”

“I– But–” Garth wilted under Savil’s pale stare. “Of course, my lady. I– Our instructions...” He seemed to give up.

“I have the letter you passed on to my colleague,” Savil said, her tone very neutral. “I’m sure this will be entirely sufficient.” She smiled, dryly. “The Twin Barrel has an excellent bathhouse...”

Garth mumbled something and stood up. Neither of them looked at Vanyel as they filed out of the room. Savil shut the door firmly behind them.

Then she just looked at him for a long moment, head cocked slightly to one side, those luminous eyes boring into him.

“I don’t know what to do with you, boy,” she said finally. “It’s not like I have _time_ to educate another child, much less in governance of all things. If you must know, I deeply resent what your father has done, here. I will try my best not to take it out on you.”

She reached into a pocket of her snow-white tunic and drew out a letter, addressed to her in Leren’s hand; the priest wrote all of Withen’s letters for him; and clearly still sealed and unopened. She held it up for a long moment, then abruptly reached to rip it in half–

“Stop!” Vanyel heard himself say before she had torn the paper more than half an inch. Savil froze, and blinked fast a couple of times again.

“What, boy?”

He shrugged. “It’s enough to know you intended not to read it.” He was still trying to put his own finger on why he didn’t want to see the letter actually destroyed. “I– But information is always worth having.”

Savil surprised him by snorting out loud. “Ah. I see you’ve read Seldasen.” She looked at him for another long moment, her eyes seeming to stare through him again. Then she shrugged and tossed the letter over to him. It landed on the floor at his feet.

“I doubt your lord father ever meant for you to see the contents of that letter, but it’s no skin off my nose if you want to read it.”

Vanyel nodded, knelt, and retrieved the letter. He tucked it into his own pocket. “I don’t want to read it now,” he said after a moment, hiding his confusion between the practiced mask.

Savil blinked a few more times and then took a deep breath and seemed to settle into herself. “Listen, boy.” A year ago, even a month ago, he might have thought her voice was cold – but now, with as much attention as he could muster focused on the subtle movements of her face and body, he thought she sounded incredibly tired. “You probably don’t know this, but I have a great deal of responsibility here. I’m the fourth-ranked Herald in the Circle, not including Queen Elspeth. I’m one of the most experienced teachers for students with the Mage-Gift, which is why I have three students right now. I’m _busy_ , and I have neither the time nor the energy nor the patience for a troublemaker or a useless daydreamer. Your father would say you’re both, I expect.” She quirked an eyebrow, and for a moment he wondered if she had practiced it like he had. “I am not your father, Vanyel. You will stand or fall on your own merit with me. But I do want you to understand that I’m not here to pull you out of trouble if you get yourself into any.”

Vanyel’s throat had grown tight, but he managed to nod. “I– understand. My father wasn’t...exactly...considerate to you.” It was an effort to push the words out and his voice caught a little, but he hoped it wasn’t enough to notice.

To his surprise, Savil laughed. “That’s the understatement of the decade, youngling. You’ll be taking weapons lessons, of course. I am fully on Withen’s side on this. I’ll see if I can sort out a roster of classes for you to take with the other trainees or at one of the Collegia. As for your other traini–” She broke off mid-sentence, grimacing, and Vanyel wondered if he had managed to do something terribly offensive. He hadn’t moved!

Savil sighed. “Tylendel,” she called, “you might as well just come in.”

Vanyel spun around as he heard the door open. A tall, fair-haired young man maybe two years his senior came into the room, looking sheepishly at the floor, followed by two shorter, younger students.

Vanyel felt his face flame red, the cloak of indifference shattering entirely. Most of it was the humiliation, that Savil’s extremely frank ‘chat’ with him had been overheard – surely he would never live this down, he’d lost even the chance of friendship with these students, presumably Savil’s young Herald-Mage trainees.

But aside from that, he barely noticed the two younger students – a short, very slender girl with tight black ringlets clinging to her skull, and a solidly built brown-haired boy who fairly radiated the essence of ‘peasant farmer.’His eyes had immediately fixed on the taller boy, and he had a strange, quivery feeling in his stomach.

Just as he’d started to get control of himself, the student took a step towards him, made an apologetic, hangdog expression, shrugged, and then stuck out his hand.

“I’m Tylendel,” he said.

Vanyel was _very_ tempted to rebuff him, to step away and fold his arms and level a cold look at him – but Joserlin’s words echoed in the back of his head. No point in alienating anyone more than he had to. Besides, just because he shook someone’s hand didn’t mean he was agreeing to care about what they thought...right?

They shook hands– and the fluttering feeling in his midsection redoubled. He pulled his hand away and took a step back as soon he could without it being obvious, clasping his own hands together. He could feel his palm tingling slightly where the boy’s skin had touched his own.

Tylendel watched him with a slight smile. Vanyel thought, with a burst of resentment, that he was one of the most handsome young men he had ever laid eyes on. He looked nothing like any of the Ashkevrons. Tawny blond curls falling to his shoulders, broad cheekbones and a firm jaw, a nose that turned up just a little...

Vanyel made himself look away. _Father did think I would have to learn new habits if I wasn’t the most handsome in the room. I guess this is what being jealous of someone else’s looks is like._ He went and introduced himself to the other two students, as a distraction. The smallish girl was Donni, and when he came close enough to shake her hand, he decided she was older than he’d thought at first, about his own age; her slight build was misleading.The boy was Mardic, and from the way they stood together, he decided they were probably a couple.

At least that meant he didn’t need to worry about fending off flirtation when he was here in Savil’s quarters...

He felt like he could still see Tylendel’s stupid smug smile in his peripheral vision, even though he practically had his back to the other boy. He turned all the way back to Savil. She was perfectly composed, at least, and that made it a little easier to pull together the ragged shreds of his own composure.

Savil drew herself up. “All right. Donni, can I have you take Vanyel down to see Kayla first thing tomorrow, for weapons lessons? I’m not sure what group she’ll want to put him with to train. Once that’s sorted, I’ll see what we can do in the way of classes. History, I think, always relevant. I think that Bardic runs a class in the law of the kingdom as well.” She nodded firmly to herself. “We’ll work it out. Vanyel, if you don’t object, we’ll give you the room with the garden door. It’s empty right now. Breakfast and lunch are in here, Margret will lay them out for us – she does a spot of cleaning for us too, but I expect you to clean up after your own messes. You can take dinner with the Court, once you’ve been formally introduced, or you could take your chances and join us here. I expect you’ll have at least some evenings free – but stay out of trouble. As my students can attest, the younglings over in the Court can get up to a fair amount of trouble.”

Tylendel popped back into Vanyel’s field of vision, dimpling. “Not half as much trouble as some of us Gifted trainees!”

“Yes, but you have your Companions to keep an eye on you,” Savil said archly. She looked back at Vanyel. “Any questions?”

He shook his head, harder than he meant to. He was having trouble thinking clearly – the room felt crowded and loud, even though Savil was the only one speaking.

“All right. Perfect. Children, why don’t you help Vanyel bring his things to his new room? ‘Lendel, meet me at my Work Room once you’re done. We need to finish that lesson.”

Tylendel gave a dramatic sigh. “Damn!” He turned to mock-glare at Vanyel. “I thought you’d gotten me out of it, by so conveniently interrupting my lesson an hour ago, but no! Alas!”

Donni rolled her eyes and Savil snorted and whacked at him. He darted out of the way and seized one of Vanyel’s packs, holding it up as though pretending it was a shield and backing away down the hallway.

Figuring this was probably the right direction to reach his assigned room, Vanyel picked up one of the remaining packs and followed. Mardic and Donni trotted behind him with the rest.

Tylendel pulled the door open wide and gestured dramatically into the room beyond. “Behold! It’s really one of the better rooms, in a lot of ways – roomy, lots of sun. I’ll warn you it can get a little drafty, though, that’s why none of us claimed it when Dom moved out.”

Vanyel, holding his head high, carried his pack into the room and set it down next to the rather enormous bed, then shrugged the lute case off his back. He nodded politely to the others as they set the rest of the packs down. “Thank you for the help,” he said, a little stiffly.

They all nodded and smiled – smiles that looked genuine, although really you could never tell – and filed out of the room. The boy called Tylendel lingered behind the others and _looked_ at Vanyel. For a moment, his eyes seemed to look right through Vanyel’s skin, if not quite as deeply or searchingly as Savil had – then he smirked and dashed away.

Vanyel closed the door firmly, then turned slowly on the spot, actually looking at the room.

...And stared in amazement. In addition to the huge bed, there was a thick pile carpet over a large section of the stone floor; a fireplace; a large desk of polished wood, and a padded, leather-upholstered chair to match. There was a chest for clothes, with a full-length mirror beside it, an armour rack – and an instrument rack next to that!

There was in fact a door to the garden. It was small, but the entire door was glazed, letting in the light, and there was a wide, low window running just below the ceiling as well. The room was quite bright even with no candles lit. There were plenty of unlit candles in wall sconces, though, and even a covered oil lantern hanging next to the door.

Feeling almost dizzy, Vanyel pulled off his boots and flopped onto the bed – and sank inches deep into a thick, soft feather mattress topped by a feather-stuffed comforter. For a moment he rolled onto his stomach, limbs splayed, and luxuriated in the sheer comfort of it.

Then the rest of it rushed back in, and he felt tears stinging his eyes – though whether he was more hurt, embarrassed, or angry was impossible to say. He felt like someone had kicked his feet out from under him, and then somehow kicked the whole earth out from under him while he was still falling.

Savil was – He had no idea what Savil was, actually. She was a shifting bundle of contradictions in his head. One moment she was sticking up for him on the matter of his horse or throwing away his father’s letter unread – the next moment, she was laying into him with how little time she had for him and how useless she thought he was.

 _Hey!_ The quiet voice popped up, almost as though the relentlessly reasonable part of him were raising and waving a little message-flag. _She never said she thought you were useless – she said you would prove yourself on your own merits with her_.

Not that his own merits, such as they were, were likely to impress Savil much. At least she seemed to approve of book-learning, unlike Father. If he could earn his teachers’ praise, that might mean something to her.

It wasn’t really fair to blame his aunt for her students listening at the door, either, but on some level he did. And her students, even if they hadn’t moved to immediately humiliate him with subtle barbs...

Actually, he was completely unsure whether Tylendel had been trying to mock him. The lump of confusion in his mind that was Tylendel was hard to even look at directly.

_He’s got all Meke’s mischievousness with twice the brains, he’s ridiculously handsome, and I’m jealous. That’s all._

It didn’t feel like that was all, and he’d met the boy for all of five minutes and really knew nothing about him, but he decided to not think about Tylendel right now. He didn’t need another pointless distraction.

The door to the garden, now... He stood up to try it and found that, as he had mostly expected, it was unlocked. Golden sunlight poured down onto cobbled paths and wild tangles of herbs and flowers, and glinted off a small ornamental pond.

It was beautiful, and peaceful in a way that was completely different from the cold numbness of his half-remembered dream. He retrieved his boots and wandered outside.

There was a field beyond the garden, on the other side of a gravel path, with a few blots that he thought might be groves of trees and a few distant shapes moving. Horses? Come to think of it, here in Haven there was a good chance they were the Companions of some local Heralds. And hadn’t there been mentions of a ‘Companion’s Field’ in some of the histories he had read?

He started to walk, crossing a broader path into the field itself. A few steps in, it occurred to him that it might not be the done thing for random non-Heralds to walk around on the field – if it even was the ‘Companion’s Field’, if the history was accurate and it even existed. It might be off limits, private...

He shrugged to himself. He had spent months missing out on the long walks and rides that he loved back in Forst Reach, too afraid that Jervis would catch him. Now he was in Haven, and if he didn’t have friends or Lissa or any of the other things he missed and longed for, at least he had an unlocked door. Nobody was likely to drag him into a weapon’s lesson where he risked a broken arm, even if they did catch him.

 _If someone stops me, I’ll apologize and go back, but I’m not going to make up my own imaginary rules for what I can’t do_.

He kept walking.


	5. Chapter Four

Savil balanced on the wooden stool with her ankles twined around the legs, watching Tylendel carefully with her Mage-Sight wide open as he built up his shields for the third time that day. The first few tries, earlier in the main Work Room deeper in the Palace, had been passable but far from perfect.

“Good,” she said, her voice a little abstracted. “Smooth, just like that...remember, keep the energy flowing, yourself to the shield and back. No spurts – Careful!” she barked, as she saw the swirling, glowing sphere of energy around her protégé begin to pulsate, slipping in and out of phase. “Steady!”

Tylendel was already frowning in concentration and effort, his shoulders tensed. He frowned harder, his whole body nearly vibrating with effort, and the energy-flow steadied.

“Good... Excellent! ‘Lendel, this may be the best shield I’ve seen from you yet.”

He opened his eyes and looked warily, but she saw how he tried to hide a smile. “Thanks, teacher. Now what?”

She grinned. “Now you see how long you can hold it for. I’ll test it once in a while – so don’t get complacent. And I’ll give you one more warning if you start to go unstable, but after that you’re on your own. You need to be able to notice when you’re about to lose it.”

He nodded, and groaned. _:Understood_ : he sent, reaching out to her with his mind. He had a strong Thoughtsensing Gift, as strong as her own, and between the two of them, Mindspeech was as effortless as speaking out loud.

She watched him closely, focusing her Sight through the shield itself, and through the inner protective shield she had laid on him at the beginning of the lesson, studying the movement of mage-energy inside his body. Tylendel wasn’t yet at a level where he could really draw on any energies from outside himself, like Savil could, so the shield came entirely from his internal, ‘personal’ pool of energy. She didn’t want him to drain himself too far by accident. Oh, it was good to let him do it a time or two, in safe circumstances, so that he would learn not to – but that wasn’t the lesson today, and she generally thought it was best to focus on one lesson at a time.

However, there was more than one way to test a shield. Concentration and control had always been a greater challenge than mere power for ‘Lendel, and she thought she had a good idea of how to test that.

 _:So:_ she Mindspoke to him, _:what do you think of my nephew?:_ The sphere of energy wobbled wildly before stabilizing, and she hid a smile. She had seen the way he looked at the boy when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

_:Vanyel?:_

_:I don’t have any other visiting nephews, do I?:_

‘Lendel’s eyes were still closed in concentration, his shoulders swaying slightly from side to side. _:Oh, gods, don’t make me think about him right now, teacher. I’m trying to focus:_

The corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily. She really ought not to tease him, but… _:Finding him a little distracting?:_

_:Distracting? He– he’s captivating, Savil! He’s the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen:_

This time she couldn’t trap the smirk before it broke out. Luckily, her student’s eyes were still closed in concentration. _:Oh, trust me, I am not such an old stick that I failed to notice:_ Her nephew was too handsome for his own good, and he was well aware of it! His looks had only improved in the intervening year. No wonder her brother found him so unmanageable...

 _:Careful:_ Kellan’s voice whispered dryly in her mind. Her Companion tended to listen in the back of her mind, and speak up when he chose; it was an arrangement they had settled on decades ago, a common one for Heralds with strong Mindspeech. : _Don’t blame the boy for what isn’t his fault. No one chooses their looks:_

She acknowledged the rebuke, but with frustration. She knew herself – one really ought to, at her age! – and she knew of her too-ready dislike for anyone who seemed to coast on the strength of a pretty face, and her too-ready contempt for people who didn’t seem immediately _useful_. She had even felt a little this way towards Tylendel, over the years – and he was handsome enough, especially now, but nothing that would turn heads. Not like bloody Vanyel.

 _:Just, please, don’t fall in love with him:_ she cautioned ‘Lendel, watching his shield quaver again before it stabilized. _:I don’t have time to nurse your broken heart again:_

_:Oh, please, teacher. I know better now. Even if I want to–:_

_:Don’t need to know. Don’t let fantasies distract you from your lesson:_ Judging that to be a subtle enough warning, she waited five seconds and then flung a levinbolt at his shield.

The lightning was deflected easily, absorbed by the surrounding shields on the Work Room, but ‘Lendel lost his balance and nearly fell over. His eyes flew open and he glared at her. “That was unfair!”

“No more unfair than life. Would an enemy shouting insults at you be any less distracting?” She was smiling, though. “You did well. I think that’s enough for today, go ahead and drop it – no! Properly!”

Tylendel rolled his eyes at her and prepared to take the shield down ‘properly’, gently unweaving the energies rather than dumping them into the earth.

She felt a burst of pride; he had come such a long way. Maybe not surprising, given how hard he tried; oh, he was as distractible as any youngling, open to the temptation of activities more fun than studying, but in their lessons, he always gave her everything he had.

She remembered the day he had come to Haven, three years ago, clinging to his Companion Gala’s back, in clothes he must have been wearing for their entire week-long journey. Hollow cheeks and matted hair and dark bruises around his eyes. He refused to leave Gala’s side, and at first refused even to sleep under a roof; it took a week to at least convince him to sleep indoors in the stables, and for years he would spend the occasional night in her stall. It had only been recently that he stopped, his bond to Gala strong enough that he didn’t need her touch to be with her fully in mind and heart.

She was the only possible teacher for him, even though at the time she had three students already. A neglected child with a Mage-Gift that could someday equal her own, not to mention his equally strong Gift of Fetching. Gifts that had caused him far more trouble than good, up to this point, and no wonder he was afraid of them. But he had blossomed under her attention, until six months later she barely recognized the young man he had become when she wasn’t looking. He was so many things. Impulsive, of course, but one could say the same of most seventeen-year-olds. Fiercely loyal; he stood up against anyone who had mocked Mardic or Donni for their backgrounds, it was still rare for Herald-trainees to come from poverty and people ought not to say anything but younglings could still be cruel. And he could always make her laugh.

She knew their closeness was unusual, even strange, for a teacher and student. Some of her colleagues had commented on it, and there was probably more talk behind her back. But, damn it, the lad needed her. He had so little else.

 _:I do want to know what you think of Vanyel_ : she Mindspoke as he finished and dropped to the ground against the wall to rest. : _With your brain, I mean. Not, um, certain other parts:_ Kellan had prodded her a few times already, on the topic of not being too uncharitable to her nephew – which was frustrating, but it was true that he was her ward. And family, for whatever that meant.

 _:Oh, shut up. Seriously, though. He’s very composed:_ ‘Lendel ran a hand through his sweat-soaked curls.

_:You mean, he’s an arrogant bastard?:_

_:Well, yes. But I think there might be something more to him._

Well, Tylendel was a marginal Empath, and it was stronger when he wasn’t thinking about it too hard. He might have picked up more than he guessed from the boy. _:You think? He seems fairly straightforward to me:_

_:Yes, well, I get the sense he’s doing a lot more thinking than he shows. And a lot more feeling. I think he could be hiding a lot of things behind that self-assured mask he wears:_

_:Could be. Think he quoted Herald Seldasen at me, earlier:_ The incident with the letter was a note of confusion in her image of her nephew, but one that had nowhere to go, and she was too weary to be especially curious. She levered her body off the stool and stretched. “Come on, get up. Let’s go to dinner.”

She held out a hand. Tylendel groaned, took it, and stood up. “I’m worn out. You make it look so easy.”

“I’ve got forty-some years of practice on you. You’ll get there. You really did do well today.” The pride was a warm spot in her chest, and she patted his shoulder, then touched a finger to his forehead and reabsorbed the inner protective shield she had laid over him just before the lesson.“Let’s go. I’ve got a Council meeting in a candlemark." 

“Tonight again? Do they ever let you rest? You need more sleep than you’ve been getting, Savil.”

 _:He’s right, you know:_ her Kellan said calmly in her head. : _You’re tired and overworked:_

She ignored the comment, since there wasn’t exactly anything she could do about it; they were shorthanded again this year. _:Could you keep an eye on Vanyel, then?:_ she said to her student instead. _:Since I don’t have time to. I’d rather not have taken him at all, but family is family:_

 _:What exactly do you want me to watch for?:_ Tylendel said warily. He weaved a little as they crossed the threshold of the Work Room; he must have worn himself out more than she had realized. Oh well, it wouldn’t do him any permanent harm.

_:Keep him out of trouble, is all. And it’s possible he’s not so hopeless as my brother thinks. We don’t agree on everything by a long stretch – gods, you should have seen the first letter he sent me, he sounded so like our father that I didn’t even want to open the second letter. He may have been unfair to the boy. I just don’t have time to look past his shiny surface to find out:_

It wasn’t her problem, she’d tried to tell herself. But he was her responsibility, and she tried to take her responsibilities seriously.

They walked in silence for minute or two.

 _:Huh:_ Tylendel said in her head. _:Gala says he’s walking around by himself in Companion’s Field:_

Another brief noted of confusion. _:Withen did say he liked nature. In the most disparaging way possible, of course, but I don’t think it’s any bad thing:_ Something else had occurred to her. _:Said he was interested in music, too – that he had a foolish fantasy of being a Bard, were his exact words. Wonder if there’s any truth to it:_

Tylendel looked thoughtful. It was a rare expression for him, her passionate, impatient student, who never looked before he leapt – who was, if not exactly self-centered, usually caught in up seeing the world through the lens of his own desires and needs, though sometimes he could startle her with his considerateness. He was like most seventeen-year-olds, she supposed. Mardic and Donni seemed older in some ways, even though they were younger; coming from poor working families, they had been forced to grow up while they were still children in body.

Not that ‘Lendel had had an easy childhood, exactly, for all that he was highborn.

 _:Perhaps I can find out, teacher:_ His mind-voice startled her out of the beginnings of a reverie. : _What other pearls did your lord brother let slip, when he was detailing all your nephew’s flaws?:_

She tried to really think about it for a moment. Even if the boy himself were a waste of time, she was pleased to see him taking interest. That was worth encouraging; it was important for Heralds to understand people well. Gods, and she was proud of how far Tylendel had come in that regard. _:Let me think. Reading between the lines, it sounds like he’s clever and does well at his studies. And – that’s interesting, there wasn’t any mention of wenching. Which I’d expect, from anyone with a face like his, I figure he could have his way with any young lady he liked. But if anything my brother seemed concerned at his lack of romantic success:_

_:Shy, then? And bookish. Not exactly a rake:_

_:Shy isn’t exactly the impression I get from him, with his nose in the air like that:_ She sighed. It was tempting to round the boy off to something simple, a shape she recognized, something she understood and could dismiss as unworthy of further attention. And she really didn’t have time for this! She was already cutting out sleep, Kellan was right about that.

Kellan spoke up right on cue. _:But the picture we’re seeing here… Love, imagine a boy like that – studious, fond of music and nature – imagine what it would be like to be that sort of child, raised by your brother! He could have had a very bad time of it. And if Treesa was the only one who ever praised him – and you can imagine that was the case, can’t you – don’t you think he would bend towards that, like any flower bends towards the sun?:_

She shook her head a little, in irritation more than anything. She felt guilty now, and she hated it when Kellan made her feel guilty. But it wasn’t fair to take that out on either ‘Lendel or her nephew. 

_:Keep an eye on him, would you? And if you can find any way to arrange it, maybe see if Gala can have a look at him. Our Companions are awfully perceptive:_

A pause. They had stopped in the hallway just outside her suite. _:Gala says it looks like he’s found my favourite grove:_ Tylendel said in her head a moment later, wonderingly. _:She says she’ll go up to him and see what he does:_

The Palace bell donged the hour. Savil started. “Oh. It’s that time? Need to hurry, or I’ll be late.”

 

* * *

 

Vanyel ducked into the shadow of the trees. The sun was setting, the horizon streaked red and gold. He had stripped off his tunic, heated by the exertion of the walk, and the cool air felt good on his skin. He wandered a few steps further into the small grove, saw a log, and sat to watch the sunset.

Alone, it felt like a pressure had been lifted from his skin. Like there was room to think. And feel.

He felt confused, mostly. And wished he didn’t, it made it harder to find the cold peace in the center of him. Father had been...well, Father. He might be awful, but Vanyel always had a good idea of what the man would say or do, and he wasn’t surprised that often. It was the same with Jervis, with his brothers.

He didn’t have that kind of read on Savil, and even less on her students. Especially Tylendel. He felt very strange when he thought of Tylendel, in a way that was even harder to reconcile with indifference.

And without that indifference, the inevitable rejections were going to _hurt_.

He felt his back stiffen. _I won’t expect anything of them. I’ll expect them to hurt me. Then it won’t be as bad when they do_. His eyes burned suddenly, and he blinked hard.

A line from Seldasen drifted his mind; _we call the man a fool who closes his options too soon._ But that didn’t apply, surely. He didn’t _have_ any options here, not in terms of actions he could take. Either the other students would be friendly or they would hurt him, that was out of his control, he could only choose how to feel about it…

It was stupid, anyway. Crying wouldn’t help, it was pretty much the definition of counterproductive.

A stick cracked a few feet away, and Vanyel jumped to his feet, startled, humiliated that anyone had caught him on the edge of tears–

But rather than some young highborn, he saw a snowy-white horse – no, not a horse, a Companion. Up close the differences were quite obvious. She had a much broader skull than any horse he had ever seen, and her enormous blue eyes, ringed by long white lashes, were shifted to the front of the skull, surprisingly human-like. And she had presence. It was very obvious he was meeting eyes with a being at least as intelligent as he was. 

She was beautiful. All of the ballads described it, but somehow he still hadn’t expected it.

He stood for a moment, wordless. “Um.” What were you supposed to say? “I’m sorry... Am I trespassing?”

The white mare looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head. Then she took a few steps forward and butted her head a little in his direction, in a very familiar and much more horselike gesture.

“Oh! You want...” He reached out tentatively, then dared to scratch the spot behind her ears. She leaned into it eagerly, and he sighed and felt himself relax just a little.

After a minute or two, she pulled away. There was something thoughtful in those eyes... Then she jerked her muzzle in the direction of the setting sun, now just a smear of red-gold on the horizon, and then back in the direction of Savil’s quarters.

“Oh!” He almost laughed. “I– You’re saying I should go back before it gets dark?”

Another ponderous nod. Horses couldn’t smile, but he somehow _felt_ a smile from her.

He found himself smiling back. “Thank you, my Lady. I– Would you or the other Companions mind if I came here sometimes?”

Her elegant head shook slowly, one side to the other and back. Then she _winked_ at him.

He smiled ruefully. “I wish I could ask your name. Ah well. I might run into your Herald sometime!”

She tossed her mane, and he got a fleeting impression of laughter before she pranced away and he started the trek back to the garden, still smiling a little.

The smile had faded by the time he reached the garden door to his own room and slipped inside. Someone had lit a fire, but everything else was where he had left it. He shrugged, shucked off his riding leathers, and changed into a midnight-blue silk shirt and trews, the first item at the top of the pack he opened. He could hear voices and laughter coming from the other room – it was all too easy to imagine that the laughter was at his expense, and it only made him feel lonelier.

About five minutes later, though, there was a tentative knock on his door. “Vanyel?” He recognized the voice as belonging to the brown-haired boy – Mardic, that was his name. “We’re eating supper, would you like to join?”

He almost declined. He didn’t want to be around other people right now. But the echo of Joserlin’s words drifted across the back of his mind, and he took a deep breath and reached for the memory of ice and silence and peace, trying to find the strength to face them. There was no purpose in being cold to Savil’s students, when they hadn’t shown him any particular animosity yet.

“I’ll be just a moment,” he called back.

 

Supper was uncomfortable. Savil ate quickly and left just a few minutes after he sat down, apparently for a Council meeting, but before she left, he caught her gaze on him several times, her expression somewhere between confusion and irritation. _Perfect, just perfect, she’s already annoyed with me and I don’t even know why._

He kept feeling Tylendel’s eyes on him, too, but it seemed like by the time he looked up, the other boy had always quickly looked away. It didn’t help that he caught himself looking at Tylendel when the other boy was talking to Mardic or Donni.

They were friendly to him, though. He was surprised by how much he wanted to like Mardic in particular, for all that he was lowborn. The boy spoke less often than the other two, in a country accent and slow, measured tone, but he was clearly making an effort to include Vanyel in the conversation.

Donni scared him a little. She spoke very fast, and when she was excited she slipped into an accent he could barely understand. She would say things that sent the other students into gales of laughter with him having no idea why; it felt like the laughter had to be at his expense, though logically he had no reason to think so.

He made to escape as the others started to stand up, but Mardic stopped him. “Vanyel? You’re welcome to join us in the sitting room.”

He started to shake his head automatically.

“You play the lute?” Mardic added, diffidently. “I play the gittern, a little. Would like to play with you, if you’re not too tired.”

He felt his eyebrows rise towards his hair. And his stomach churned. He had extremely mixed feelings about the prospect of playing – and fumbling – in front of these students. Especially Tylendel. Still, wasn’t this exactly what he had been hoping for – an opportunity to play, maybe be invited to play elsewhere where a Bard might hear him?

And declining would be rightly interpreted as a rejection.

 _I don’t care what they think._ But that was starting to ring false. Mardic and Donni might be lowborn, but they were going to be Heralds, and mages. Even as trainees, their status was higher than his. They were better company than his sibs and cousins, too.

And he was constantly on edge in their presence, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

 _I can’t let fear control me_. Herald Seldasen had rude things to say about people who did that, too. He nodded to Mardic. “Of course. I will go fetch my lute.”

That gave him the opportunity he needed to close the door of his room, lock it, and pace briefly, focusing hard on the dream-memory until his stomach settled and his whirling thoughts were deadened.He stood in front of the mirror, adjusted his tunic until it was perfect, and practiced that calm little smile.

_I can do this._

Mardic was moderately skilled on the gittern, but even with his damaged hand, Vanyel was clearly better. They alternated playing songs that each of them knew, and found a few they could both play and sing. Mardic had good pitch, though his voice was rough; Donni sang along sometimes, and though she hit a few wrong notes, her voice was as high and clear as water. Then Mardic asked to try Vanyel’s lute, and they traded instruments, Vanyel giving him tips while plucking away at the gittern. He was rusty, but he could still play.

He reclaimed his lute and went absently through his fingering exercises while the students talked – gossiped, really. Mardic had let slip that he and Donni were lifebonded, not just together. He had previously been skeptical that lifebonds were a real thing, so that was intriguing. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask any more questions about it, though.

And then:

“So, ‘Lendel?” Donni’s eyes were sparkling. “Got your eyes on anyone? How about that handsome young man training with Herald Kat? The one from Lake Evendim? I heard a rumour...”

Tylendel made a sour face and mumbled something incomprehensible. Vanyel stared. _Got your eyes on anyone...handsome young man..._

Donni must have noticed his stunned expression. “Lendel is _shay’a’chern_ ,” she said helpfully. “That means he likes boys, not girls.”

 _Likes...boys..._ What? How was that– “Oh,” Vanyel said weakly.

“I’m afraid it’s not very respectable.” Tylendel spoke, and he was smiling, but his back had stiffened and there was something forced about that smile – something that seemed to hide a great deal of pain, Vanyel found himself thinking. “I’m sure you’ll hear the gossip about me soon enough.”

Vanyel looked away from the other boy’s eyes, feeling confused and off-balance. There was an awkward silence.

“You never told us what happened with Nevis,” Donni said brightly, clearly trying to break the tension.

Tylendel shrugged; he looked very uncomfortable. “Morning-after regrets. He left as fast as he could and spread it around that I seduced him.”

“Oh. Well, clearly he didn’t deserve you.”

Tylendel winced, and Mardic changed the topic, offering to try playing a song he claimed to have overheard at Bardic. That nearly pulled Vanyel’s thoughts away from Tylendel and this blinding new revelation. He listened, and tried his hand at the chords Mardic plunked out. But he couldn’t focus, not even on the new hope of being invited to play at Bardic. Tylendel had pulled Donni into an intense conversation about something he thought had to do with mage-craft, and she was playing along.

After a few minutes, Vanyel gave up and excused himself. He had to think, and he couldn’t do it with all these people around. Besides, his hand was really aching now, and his fingertips were tender under the calluses.

He undressed and lay on his new bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

_Likes boys..._

He had already drawn several conclusions, and things that had never made sense were clicking into place. Snippets of overheard conversations between his father’s armsmen, that fell silent as soon as they saw him coming. And it maybe explained his father’s particular obsessions around his eldest son. Father had always tried to stamp out the tiniest hint of the feminine in him – not that there was really much reason to expect a boy who liked other boys to be unusually feminine. Was there? Tylendel certainly wasn’t. He had that luxuriant hair any girl would be jealous of, true, but with his strong jaw, those cheekbones...

He caught himself picturing the Herald-trainee’s face again, and pushed the image away. _I have a bad feeling I know what this means_.

He had read a lot of poetry – a lot of love poetry. And he’d never felt right about girls, not the way the poetry described. No girl had ever ignited a fire in his breast and no kisses had ever been like birds singing in the dawn light. He had never wanted to stare at a girl’s eyes and compare them to limpid pools. Even that one, unforgettably awkward time that his father had hired a courtesan for him, on his fourteenth name day – well, the best he could say about it was that it had been tolerable.

He could write those ballads off as purple prose that didn’t describe how anyone really felt...

 _But I can imagine feeling that way about bloody Tylendel, can’t I?_ The thought made him extremely uncomfortable, but in an intriguing way that he couldn’t seem to stop poking at, like the hole left by a missing tooth. He imagined Tylendel playing the game of courtship with him, complimenting his clothing, holding out a hand to dance. Oh! The thought was so incongruous he laughed out loud, but he didn’t miss the sudden tingle in his stomach.

 _Gods, this is exactly what I need. Father would never forgive this_.

Then again, Father couldn’t read his mind. And Vanyel was very, very good at hiding his thoughts. Had to be, to have made it this far. He didn’t need to reveal anything.

He couldn’t afford to let his guard down around Savil’s students anyway, even if they seemed friendly – not when his social position here in Haven was so uncertain, and when Savil could poison them against him at any time. He would be polite, of course, and accept those overtures of friendship that seemed harmless.

But he would hold his distance, and he wouldn’t let himself start to care. Even though he could so, so easily start to care about impressing Tylendel. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him that way again.

He blew out the candles then, but he lay awake for a long time.

 

* * *

 

_He was alone in an icy, mountainous landscape. The sky was grey-white, and the treacherous slopes on either side of him were almost the same grey-white. It was snowing, and the cold was bitter even through the heavy cloak he wore._

He vaguely recognized that it was a dream – the snow-dream, his peaceful sanctuary, the clearest and most vivid it had ever been.

_He felt – not quite at peace, but he had accepted this already, when he sent Tylendel away, and he wasn’t afraid..._

Tylendel?

He woke gasping, choking back a scream, shivering so hard he was bouncing a little on the bed. The fire was dull red coals and the room was quite warm, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

The dream was already slipping away. Ice, mountains, loneliness, and he had resigned himself to something...he had sent Tylendel away...

He felt the tears start then, hot and stinging on his cold cheeks. He was still sleep-fuzzed, and in that half confused state the dream felt far too close to home. He was going to push Tylendel away, and resign himself to loneliness, because that was the safe path, the way he could avoid his father’s wrath.

 _I don’t want to live that way_ , he thought bitterly, and his shoulders shook in a silent sob. But the memory of cold and white was still with him, and the memory of how he’d made peace with...something. That part felt nebulous, but he clung to it, and slowly the aching lump in his throat subsided.

 _I might not want to live that way,_ he thought sleepily, _but I can and I will._

He woke with the dawn, vaguely remembering that he had been awake in the night, but feeling calm and determined and only a little sad.


	6. Chapter Five

> _To my dearest brother Van,_
> 
> _It’s been a little while since I heard from you. I hope that by now you have made it safely to Haven. Haven! I am almost jealous, to be honest. I must visit you, when I can get away. And perhaps you can persuade Aunt Savil to let you visit us?_
> 
> _I want to hear all about Savil! What is she like? I hope that she is a good teacher and isn’t being too bad on you. What are her mage students like?_
> 
> _As for the rest, how do you find being at Court? Have you had any opportunities to play your lute? I hope you have made some friends there._
> 
> _I am still learning a great deal. Trevor is a hard teacher. Not like Jervis, but I go to bed with my share of bruises! I am getting to be very fast though, I can even keep up with some of his swordmaidens now. You really must tell me what sort of weapons training you are getting. Hopefully we are learning styles that are a little different, and can teach each other some tricks when we see each other again!_
> 
> _Please do write back soon. I’m excited for you, but I have been worried as well._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Lissa_

 

Vanyel finished reading the letter and set it aside, next to the plate that held the remains of his lunch. He had been in Haven for about a week, and he had intended to write to Lissa days ago, but he had in fact been kept very busy. The History class he was taking over at Bardic went by lightning-fast compared to even his most challenging tutors, and he was up late most nights in his room, reading by candlelight to try to catch up. He might have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t been so far behind; the material was interesting, but it was humiliating to be the worst in the class. There were five Bardic students in the class and two Heraldic trainees, and they were all at least two years younger than him and already ensconced in their cliques. Well, that was fine, he told himself. The point of the class wasn’t to make friends. 

The promised law class was just as hard, and didn’t even have the virtue of being interesting – he could see how it would be useful, but it was deadly dry. Savil had put him in another class on advanced figuring and principles of accounting; his fellow students were mostly second sons or children of merchants and other lowborn families, training to be clerks. He had no idea what to say to any of them, so he mostly didn’t say anything.

Then there was weapons class, every morning. To his complete surprise, this was his favourite part of the day, even if he did go home every day nursing bruises. The Collegium weaponsmaster, a hugely broad and strong woman who went by Kayla, had taken one look at him, divested him of most of the armour he had packed, and placed him with an instructor called Lord Oden and his current student. He was learning a very fast, acrobatic style with daggers and other light blades, and he was actually good at it. And it was amazing what a difference the application of a little praise made to his motivation. He actually looked forward to their bouts.

He took a fresh sheet of paper – well, it bore some ancient census figures on the back plus some figuring from his homework, even here in Haven paper was fairly precious – and dipped his pen into the inkpot.

 

> _Dearest Lissa,_
> 
> _I apologize for leaving you waiting so long. Savil is a hard taskmaster, although I have barely seen her myself! I am taking some classes at the Collegium with Bardic and Healers students, and some highborn whose parents send them here instead of having them learn with tutors. A few of the Heraldic trainees are in the same classes, too._
> 
> _Aunt Savil herself is quite_ _busy, and seems to be very important. Her presence is required at the Palace nearly every day, and several times she has been kept in Council meetings until after midnight. I only heard her come in because I was up late trying to catch up in my classes. I think our tutors must have been going easy on us, or else they just weren’t very good, I am particularly far behind in History._
> 
> _I was introduced at Court and I have made a few friends. I haven’t played the lute for them yet, but I have played with Mardic, who is one of Savil’s Herald-Mage trainees. He plays rather badly, but I was able to give him some suggestions, and I am trying to learn more of the songs that are popular here at Court. At the very least, Mother might appreciate the new variety when I finally come home._
> 
> _Savil has three Heraldic students currently, all Mage-Gifted. Two of them are lifebonded to each other! They are friendly enough to me._
> 
> _I have been training in weapons work with Duke Oden, who is a skilled teacher as well as a fighter. I am coming to agree with you that Jervis was just not a good teacher. I think I am doing well, and would gladly match blades with you if your master allows a visit. I am not sure if Savil would allow me to visit your keep, but so far she has seemed very strict._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Vanyel_

 

He read the letter through, then shrugged and folded it. He hadn’t told Lissa everything; there were things he wasn’t sure how to write. Like how anticlimactic his introduction at Court had been. The throne room was drab, nothing like he’d expected, and he’d waited over a candlemark for a very preoccupied Queen Elspeth to speak about five words to him. Or how _boring_ he found the highborn children his age who he had made an effort to befriend. They had not been all that hard to charm – he knew that his looks helped him here, and he was adept enough with courtly graces thanks to Mother and her ladies – but gods, they were just as tedious as his cousins. The boys only ever talked about hunting and girls, and the young ladies twittered about Court gossip and future marriages.

It was easy to maintain his composure around them, though. The same couldn’t be said for Savil’s students. They were polite and welcoming to him. He was polite and distantly friendly back. They invited him to study with them, or sit in the garden, or join them for tea; he tried to take them up at least some of the time, no point making them think he was turning up his nose at them, and turned them down graciously for the rest. Their conversation was lively, but frequently turned to unfamiliar topics that he couldn’t begin to follow…and he always felt off-balance and tense around them.

Especially Tylendel.

Vanyel was torn between taking up the offers of friendship and avoiding them, especially with Mardic, whom he had quickly noticed did not have a mean bone in his body, and who for some reason had relatively few friends among the other Trainees. Perhaps it was because he was so quiet, or because of the farmer’s accent that made him sound uneducated and even a little stupid. Which was utterly false. He might not be as quick-witted as Donni or ‘Lendel, but he had his own steady intelligence, and his overtures of friendship seemed very genuine.

It was easy to warm to the other boy – and that was the problem. Vanyel didn’t feel ready to warm to anyone yet. So he spent most evenings at Court, expertly navigating the game of flirtation...and noticing himself expertly pulling away every time a young highborn lady showed a little too much interest. They were much better at taking hints than, say, Melenna.

But it was obvious that for all their beauty and graces, he felt nothing for any of the young ladies.

Whereas he’d had several very uncomfortable dreams about Tylendel. The most disturbing part was how much he’d enjoyed them, until he woke up.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. His sleep had been less than fully restful these last few days. Between the ice-dream and the _other_ dreams, he woke up several times per night.

But things we nowhere near as bad as they could have been. He had the favour of his teachers, and most of his peers were at least civil. He couldn’t really complain.

 

He was halfway through a chapter of his History book when he heard the sound of the door opening. It was Mardic and Donni, back for lunch.

Mardic greeted him with a nod. “Heya, Van.”

“Heya, Mardic.” He scooted his chair back a little.

Donni caught his eye. “Look at this.” Her hands twitched, and suddenly they each held a slim dagger, flashing in the sunlight from the window. He hadn’t even seen the blades appear, though presumably they had been up her sleeves.

“Wow,” he said, suitably impressed.

She grinned. “Aren’t they lovely? Mardic got them for me on my name-day.” She made the blades dance in her hands. “Didn’t you, love?”

Mardic turned from the sideboard and smiled awkwardly. “Donni likes weapons.” 

Vanyel blinked at him. “You don’t?”

He just shrugged. “I never held a sword before I came to Haven. I’ve helped butcher enough livestock, I’m sure I could kill a man if I needed to, but… I hope I never have to.”

Vanyel nodded. “I can agree on that.” He had never killed anything. He hated the hunts his brothers enjoyed, more about sport than putting meat on the table. It seemed unnecessarily cruel. He’d hated their talk of glory in battle, too, his imagination could picture the ‘deadlie woundes’ all too well. _I’m not sure I could kill a man, if it came down to it._ But he still enjoyed the lessons in swordsmanship. “Is there any weapons discipline you like?”

Mardic shrugged again. “Honest, I’m no good at it.” He held up his hands. “I’m not very coordinated. Though I’m a fair hand with a quarterstaff.”

“You’re a wet blanket.” Donni spun around and her blades darted forward, cutting an imaginary enemy to ribbons. “You just don’t try in weapons class, you’re always holding back.” 

Vanyel winced. Were they fighting? It was hard to tell. He hadn’t realized it was possible for people who were lifebonded to fight with each other.

The door opened again. A pause. “Donni,” Savil said, her voice dangerously silky. “What did I say about blades inside?”

Donni spun around, looking guilty. “It’s only daggers!”

“Blades are blades.” Savil glowered at her. “Put them away, please.”

“Aw.” But Donni obeyed, looking sulky, and avoiding Mardic’s eyes when he tried to smile at her.

 

* * *

 

Tylendel lay sprawled in the centre of the Work Room floor, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. Savil had already knocked the wooden stool aside and knelt by him, her knees complaining more than she would have liked. A moment later, sense came back into his eyes, and he managed to focus on her.

“Ouch,” he said, hoarsely. “W-what happened?”

They had been practicing offensive combat magic, flinging levinbolts and fireballs at each other, with the added challenge that Tylendel was responsible for his own primary shielding.

“I’m not sure, lad,” she said. “My best guess is that you drained yourself to the point that you couldn’t maintain your shield, and it rebounded on you when it collapsed.” It had happened fast enough that even with her Mage-Sight fully open, she wasn’t entirely sure. She had to admit that she hadn’t quite been giving him her full attention; she had sat in a meeting with Jaysen that morning, and her head was full of numbers for the Treasury budget.

‘Lendel started to sit up, and groaned. “...Well, that’ll teach me to overreach. Ow. My head.”

“That’s backlash for you.” She helped him sit up, then ran a critical eye over him with her Mage-Sight. “You’re drained, all right. No more lessons today, I dare say. Let’s get you back to the suite and I’ll make you some willowbark tea.”

“Thanks, teacher.” Tylendel rubbed his forehead. “I...okay, I think I can try to stand.”

She helped him to his feet, steadying him with her body and a touch of her own energy; she didn’t think he would make it back to the suite otherwise.

Watching the grimace he tried to hide, she felt a little guilty for pushing him this hard – and for not watching him more carefully – but she wasn’t going to apologize. Better he learn his limits now than on his internship circuit, or alone in the field – or in combat. There were no active war zones in Valdemar right now, but she knew as well as anyone how fragile their peace was, and what sort of world she would be flinging her protégé into once he went into his Whites.

They made their unsteady way back to her suite, and she helped ‘Lendel get settled on the couch and brought him the tea and a heat-pack for his head.

It wasn’t much past noon, and she had set aside the next several candlemarks for their prematurely concluded lesson. She poured herself a glass of watered wine, and sagged into a chair next to her student.

 _:I had wanted to talk to you–:_ He winced, and the mental contact cut off. “About Vanyel,” he said weakly a moment later.

“Oh?” Savil quickly opened and extended her other senses, checking for nearby minds. No one around. “What about him?” A moment later she remembered that she’d asked him to keep an eye on her nephew. Conscientious of him to check in, she thought. She had completely forgotten. 

“I’m confused. I don’t know what to think about him.”

She sipped. “Say more.”

‘Lendel turned over onto his side and moved the heat pack from his brow to the back of his neck. “He’s very controlled.” He said nothing more for a long time.

“And?” she prompted.

“He’s not stupid, that’s for sure. He’s a little behind in some of the lessons, but I reckon he’ll catch up soon enough. I asked him about the book he was reading yesterday and we had a whole conversation where he almost forgot to be arrogant at me!”

Savil laughed out loud. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” But it did remind her. She reached out for Kellan. _:Love, remind me later to check in with the lad’s teachers. I ought to send my brother an update:_ Not that Withen would be especially pleased or impressed by academic success. It wasn’t that Withen was stupid, either, for all that he’d inexplicably struggled with reading and writing his whole life – but he had such a firm concept of authority and what was proper. To him, any question was a challenge. Just like their father.

“I think he’s hiding something,” ‘Lendel said finally. “I feel like he’s hurting.”

There was anxiety in his voice. She wanted to reassure him and move on, but for all that it seemed improbable, ‘Lendel _was_ an Empath. “And?” she prompted, after he had been silent for a long moment.

“But I’ve tried to reach out to him, and he just freezes up. Goes all polite and formal. He’s not quite as much an arrogant prig as I expected. You make an overture and he accepts it gracefully. But. I still feel like I’m just talking to masks over masks.” His shoulders shook a little, and a burst of bitter laughter echoed in her head. “Oh, he did cool towards me after Donni let slip that I’m _shay’a’chern_. But I think it’s not just the usual awkwardness, Savil. I think there’s something different going on there, I just don’t know what.”

She let the silence stretch out for a bit, giving ‘Lendel space to think.

“He’s very musical,” he added finally. “His hand is a little clumsy, he let slip that his father’s weaponsmaster broke his arm in training this past spring. But he’s good, really good. You said he wanted to be a Bard?”

She sighed. “Apparently.” It was hard to imagine. But, as Kellan had pointed out, that was as much a failure of her imagination as a failure on the boy’s part.

“Gods, with training he could play as well as any Bard I ever saw. Reckon he’s got the Bardic Gift?”

Savil stifled a yawn. “He didn’t two years ago, that’s for sure. But he had quite a lot of potential Gifts, and Bardic’s not one of mine anyway.”

“Oh! Hmm. Figure I could ask Breda to test him?”

She shrugged. It was a remote possibility, but it wasn’t like it would take any of _her_ time. “You could ask.”

There was another long, thoughtful silence.

“Perhaps I’ll do that, teacher.” Tylendel was starting to sound sleepy.

Savil bit back another yawn. “If you like. Just…be careful, okay? Don’t get too attached to the lad.” She wasn’t sure she liked the strength of concern in his voice, and how much time he had clearly spent thinking about this.

“I won’t – I’m not.” He turned to look at her for a moment. “Just, it seems like he could use a friend?”

 _And you’ve been there too, lad, haven’t you?_ It hadn’t been easy for him at the start – and even now, far too many Herald-trainees gave him the cold shoulder because of his preferences. Of course he would sympathize.

Well, he wasn’t a child anymore. He was nearly of age; she had to trust him to take care of himself. And she really ought to discourage him from confiding in her like this; she never let any of her other students bring their personal lives to her, and he didn’t need the extra support anymore.

She stood up, glanced at the sky. “I’m going to catch a few winks before my next commitment. You rest up, okay?”

“Yes, Ma...”

She rolled her eyes at him.

Lying under her own covers, as she fell towards sleep, she tried to think on what she had learned from ‘Lendel. It was hard to know how far to trust his Empathy against his, well, teenage desires. Was he imagining Vanyel as a tragic, romantic figure because he was attracted to the boy?

But Empathy was particularly good at picking up pain.

She wasn’t good at reading people. It was one of her greatest weaknesses, for all that Kellan had helped her train and improve a little. She relied on working with people who were willing to just _say_ what they were feeling – and she knew she bore resentment for anyone who tried to obscure their feelings deliberately. That was the source of the new annoyance she felt at Vanyel.

...Which wasn’t fair to him, as Kellan reminded her with a whisper in the back of her mind. She had grown up in the Ashkevron Manor, too, and expressing emotions wasn’t the done thing even if you were female. If Vanyel wore masks, well, they might well be a survival technique.

 

* * *

 

When Vanyel came home early that evening from his final class of the day, nursing a headache as bits and pieces of Valdemaran law drifted through his head, he got a surprise. Tylendel, who had expected would be away, was slumped on the couch with a heat-pack on his head, looking pale and drawn. He felt a surge of concern that left him unsteady on his feet for a moment

And there was a strange woman sitting across from him – very tall, dark, as lean as a boy. She wore scarlet robes–

A Bard! She was a Bard! He managed to prevent his jaw from dropping, and sagged into a chair opposite her before he could fall down from sheer shock.

“Hello,” the woman said in a deep, rich, melodic voice. “I am Bard Breda. You must be Savil’s nephew Vanyel?”

He nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he managed. “Tylendel, are you all right?”

The boy groaned and scooted himself along the couch until he was half sitting. “Just a mage-training incident. I was being careless. I’ll be all right by tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t sound as bad as he looked, and Vanyel relaxed a little.

“Tylendel tells me you play the lute beautifully,” Bard Breda said after a moment. “If you don’t mind, I would love to hear.”

Vanyel’s head reeled – he felt about to pass out. “I...of course...” he stammered.Dizzy, he stood up and went to his room to fetch the lute.

Bard Breda had brought her own lute, which she had out by the time he returned. She was plucking out the tune to the first part of the Windrider cycle.

He took the hint and started playing along with her. The fingerings weren’t too hard, and despite his whirling head he managed to keep up. By the fourth measure he felt steadier, and he started to sing the first verse.

As he finished, he finally noticed that Breda had stopped playing, and was watching him closely.

“That was not bad,” she said after a moment. “You have a great deal of musicality, Vanyel. Have you had much teaching?”

He shook his head. “A little, my lady. There was a minstrel who spent a winter at our keep – Shanse, he was called – he taught me some fingerings. And I taught myself some from books.”

“So, mostly self-taught. I am very impressed. Shanse did write to us some years ago, praising your potential. I see he was right.” She cocked her head to the side again. “I think that is not your favourite song, though? Would you like to play another?”

At that point Tylendel stood up unsteadily, and professed that he would go to bed. Vanyel played several more songs for her. She listened attentively, questioned him on a few embellishments he had added to ‘My Lady’s Eyes’ – not exactly his favourite song, since it was pure drivel, but his mother’s favourite, and at least it had some interesting fingerings and a pleasant melody. But he thought that she looked disappointed, and he was right.

“Do you compose?” she asked finally, startling him. He shook his head numbly. She sighed. “Ah, Vanyel. I had hoped to offer you a place at Bardic Collegium, but I’m afraid that you don’t have the Bardic Gift, and it’s not something that can be learned or trained. You’re a highly talented musician, but we need more than that. If you had the Gift of Composition... We require a Bardic student to have two of the three Gifts.”

She trailed off and stared into the fire for a long time. Vanyel’s stomach sank into to his boots, and his eyes prickled. He refused to cry, not here in front of her – but it was so _unfair_ , that she would come here and raise all of his hopes only to dash them.

Finally, Breda looked at him again. She shook her head. “I’ve always had a suspicion that perhaps Composition can be learned, if the passion behind it is there. But anyway. Your talent is too great to waste, Vanyel, even if you are your father’s heir. I would welcome you in my classes, if Savil can make time in your schedule.”

She took up her own lute, then, and began to play the first bars of ‘Sun and Shadow’ – and he knew he was seeing the Bardic Gift in action for the first time. He couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to, and he felt like he was _there_ , personally watching the events of the old story she was telling. Her voice seemed to fill the whole room.

She paused after the first verse and jerked her chin at him, then at his lute. He felt his eyes widen, but he took up the lute and played alongside her. She dampened her Gift down. He sang the part for Sunsinger and she took Shadowdancer’s part, and he managed to lose himself in the music.

_Sun and Shadow, dark and light / Child of day and child of night / Who can set our tale aright? / Is there no future but sorrow..._

He had never realized what a sad song it was, even if later on the end of the story was happy.

She took her leave after that, pleading fatigue, though he suspected that she was gracefully giving him a chance to be alone and absorb what she had told him. He took the gift gratefully, and after escorting her down the road to Bardic, he headed for Companion’s Field.

The dry grass crunched under his boots. It was almost completely dark now, the sky half-stained in red and purple. Now that he was alone, he started to shake, and he felt like throwing up.

 _I can’t be a Bard. I don’t have what it takes._ Breda had tried to be gentle, he could tell, and she had praised his musical ability – but how could any of that matter? He couldn’t be a Bard. He was his father’s heir, and she clearly considered that his duty and expected him to fulfill it. To want to fulfill it...

Reaching the safety of the small grove of trees, he let himself shed a few silent tears. There was a heavy ache in his chest, and leaden weariness in his limbs. _What’s the point of any of this, anyway?_ For a moment he felt like he could see the next fifty years, stretching out – he would study and train for another two years, socializing with inane Court children, and then he would come of age and go back to the Keep, face another decade or two of Father’s criticism and disappointment, would probably be married off to a girl he felt nothing for, produce a few heirs of his own, and at some point Father would die and he would govern the Holding for gods knew how many more years...

The vision popped like a bubble and dissipated. He watched the last of the light fade from the sky. 

Breda had been giving him a strong hint, he suspected, when she mentioned that she thought the Gift of Composition could be learned. Like his purely musical skill, he supposed – certainly he had a native talent for it, he’d had perfect pitch as far back as he could remember, but the ear could be trained and so could the hands. Even Shanse had mentioned that he hadn’t started with much of an ear, certainly not as good as Vanyel’s, and that he had done extensive exercises to improve it. Breda seemed to be saying that at least the skill of composition could be learned through sheer hard work, if one was motivated, which she clearly thought he was.

He sighed. _But I’ll never be a true Bard, not without the Bardic Gift_. It was deeply, bitterly unfair.

“No one ever promised the world would be fair,” he said out loud, scrubbing a sleeve across his face. The temperature was dropping, and all of a sudden he wanted voices and light and people around him. Dinner would still be going on at Court, he thought. There was a great deal of wine served at the Court dinners, and no one stopping the younger girls and boys from drinking. Enough wine to fuddle his head sounded like an excellent idea right now.

 

* * *

 

Very late that night, Vanyel weaved his way back to Savil’s quarters. He had joined a boisterous group of young highborn men – he knew most of them, but had tended to sit with the ladies in the past – and consumed a great deal of wine, chasing numbness that he never quite found. He had let one of the pretty ladies’ maids take her flirting further, too, though he had been very drunk by then and only fuzzily remembered her leading him to her bedchamber. It had not been any more satisfactory than his past experiences – worse, he had found himself closing his eyes and picturing Tylendel’s face and body instead of hers. Which was not reassuring at all.

He hadn’t really eaten supper, and now his head was spinning and he felt sick. Well, he was almost to Savil’s rooms, and his bed... When he reached the garden, he gave up the fight with his stomach, and bent over to vomit as discreetly as he could into one of the clumps of bushes. He had never drunk himself sick before, although Meke had, and he was glad that he had made it back to his quarters first and no one was about to witness the humiliation.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he entered his room via the garden door, vaguely thinking that someone might be up and he didn’t want them to see him.

He tripped over his weapon’s stand, caught himself, and collapsed fully clothed onto his bed. Sleep evaded him for a time; he had to keep his eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, or the bed seemed to buck and whirl under him. He felt very detached and distant, almost as though he was floating apart from his body, and he wasn’t thinking much. Eventually, he slipped into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics by Mercedes Lackey. 
> 
> There's a recording of the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cfD4yNKOMcc


	7. Chapter Six

The Palace bell for noon was ringing, slightly out of sync with the temple bell that had run a couple of minutes earlier. Savil had just finished a long, boring meeting and was on her way to join her friend Andrel for lunch over at the Healers’ Collegium when Tylendel’s voice spoke in her head.  
****

_:Teacher, do you have a moment?:_

He never used the formal Mindspeech protocols with her, the questioning mental tap on her shields; he just reached, and she let him, it was a pattern they’d gotten into years ago. To be honest, she didn’t really mind, even if he tended to reach out at inopportune times. She remembered how she had rejoiced when he started speaking to her mind-to-mind, the first real sign of trust.

His mind-voice sounded clear and alert, which was a good sign. He hadn’t appeared for breakfast and she had let him sleep, guessing he needed the rest.

She had been looking forwards to that lunch, though. _:Can it wait?:_

 _:Um. It won’t take long?:_ There was a lot of anxiety in his mindvoice, and she sighed and sent a feeling of acquiescence. : _I’m worried about Vanyel:_ he went on. : _I think I messed up, Savil:_

There was a long pause. _:Do go on:_ Savil sent impatiently.

_:I asked Breda over, told her to discreetly assess him. And he doesn’t have the Gift, although he’s otherwise very good. I think Breda wishes she could take him at Bardic – she was sort of hinting that if he took up composing, he might qualify. Is that true?:_

Savil was still walking towards the dining hall, and caught herself before she could stumble. _:No idea. I doubt it:_

There was a waiting sort of silence in her head; she could tell that ‘Lendel was still there, but thinking. _:In any case:_ he said finally, _:I think he took it hard. He was very composed when Breda gave him the news – I ducked out to give him privacy, but I, er, might’ve been listening at the door. But Donni asked around and he joined some of the troublemakers at Court last night and bedded someone’s maid. And drank quite a lot, judging by the fact that I woke up in the middle of the night to him being sick in the bushes outside my room:_

Savil stopped walking and pinched the bridge of her nose. That was exactly the sort of behaviour she had been worried about in the first place. If not for ‘Lendel, she would have assumed that this was just the boy showing his true colours, and she was tempted to assume that anyway. 

 _:He wouldn’t let on anything this morning:_ Tylendel went on. _:I tried to talk to him and he brushed me off, but I’m really worried:_

Her student sounded really agitated. _:’Lendel, calm down:_ she sent back _. :He wasn’t just hungover?:_

 _:It wasn’t that. I could feel he was really hurting, okay?:_ It wasn’t hard to pick up the affront in his mindtouch. _:I think I destroyed his dream!:_

She sighed. _:Don’t be melodramatic. You were just trying to do something nice for him:_

 _:Trying doesn’t count for anything!:_ A line she had thrown at him plenty of times. 

Damn it. What was she supposed to tell him? She didn’t have time to think about it today, and despite herself she still resented the whole situation. And she worried for her student. She could read ‘Lendel better than most people, especially speaking mind-to-mind, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his feelings towards Vanyel were a lot more than just friendly. She had sensed quite a lot of longing there. And she really didn’t have the time or energy to nurse him through another broken heart.

On reflection, maybe she didn’t want to encourage him to spend any more time with the lad. Knowing him, he would just get attached.

 _:You could ask Mardic to talk to him:_ she added just before reaching the dining hall. Mardic had a good head on his shoulders, and she knew people found him non-threatening.

And she felt a pang of gratitude that she never had to worry about broken hearts with her other two students. The lifebond hadn’t been easy for them at first, but now they were as steady a pair as any she knew.

 

* * *

 

Vanyel trudged back from weapons practice, nursing a wrenched shoulder and yawning. He didn’t feel well; his sleep had been restless and broken for days, he was wound up tighter than he’d ever been, and his head ached fiercely. He knew he was drinking too much – and probably making a fool of himself. But it was the only way he could stomach the company he’d fallen into at Court, and spending time with them was better than being alone with his thoughts, or spending his evenings in Savil’s rooms with her students. Both Mardic and Tylendel had been making attempts at conversation with him, but he was avoiding them, Mardic because he didn’t think he could bear talking about music right now, and Tylendel because, well, because he really didn’t want to look any closer at his feelings towards the other boy.

To his surprise, he missed their company, but not enough to overcome the other feelings.

 _Gods, I’m ashamed of myself_. He was still keeping up in his classes, barely, but it was a struggle to focus and often to stay awake. He hadn’t played his lute since that day with Breda; he knew he ought not to let the disappointment affect him so hard, but he couldn’t find any pleasure even in the thought of music.

He knew that he wasn’t coping well – that he was falling into a pattern that would be hard to escape from. The trouble was he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was like watching someone else live his life from a great distance. When he tried to think or plan, the future felt so hopeless that he would always flinch away from it.

He had caught himself thinking that it would be awfully _convenient_ if he were, oh, run over by a cart or something. Those thoughts disturbed him and he did his best to push them away.

He went into his room via the garden door and flung his padding onto the floor, not bothering to place it properly on the rack. He ought to eat, he knew, but his stomach churned with tension, and he desperately wanted to be where no one would try to talk to him. He wasn’t sure if anyone else was home, but Savil’s students tended to pop in and out throughout the day.

Lying fully clothed on his bed, he fell into a light doze. He dreamed – not the ice-dream, but a confused half-nightmare. He was hurrying somewhere through the Palace, trying to evade a pretty, flirtatious maid who was shouting after him. When he ducked behind a tapestry to hide, he found a little room there, and saw Mardic practicing his gittern.

“They would let me into Bardic, you know,” the young man said slyly. “I don’t have the Gift, but I’m just a poor farmer’s son, so they would take me as a minstrel.”

Vanyel pushed past him into a narrow hallway, barely big enough for him. He heard Savil’s voice ahead, faint and distant: “...need to talk about your brother, lad.”

He managed to shove himself through the tunnel and found himself in Savil’s garden. But the voice was still there. Voices, rather. “What about him?” Tylendel was saying, his voice higher and louder than usual.

...Vanyel opened his eyes and found himself lying on his bed with the sun halfway down the sky, blazing through the high window and glazed door and shining right into his eyes. It had to be mid-afternoon; he’d missed History, then. _Gods, I hope Savil doesn’t find out, she’ll skin me alive._

“–You know what,” Savil was saying, not that far away. She must have been in Tylendel’s room, then, rather than in the sitting room. “This feud is becoming a serious problem, serious enough that we discussed it in the Council meeting this morning. A complaint came up in the Queen’s audience. Your brother is looking to hire a mage to escalate. Did you know that, Tylendel?”

“No!” Brief silence. “I didn’t ask.”

“But you suspected, didn’t you, lad? And you wanted to have plausible deniability.” More silence. “Listen. I know how much your brother means to you. I’m not asking you to betray him! But can’t you see that if this feud goes any further, it’s going to become a threat to everyone in the area?”

Tylendel’s reply was sullen. “Leshara’s been trying to hire a mage for months. My brother told me that much. He only wants to be able to protect himself.”

“Kernos’ horns, boy! The Queen needs to _know_ if Wester Leshara is planning to break our laws! Did you never think that maybe you ought to tell me?”

Unintelligible mumble.

“Gods!” Pause. Then Savil’s voice grew gentler. “I know you think Leshara did something unforgivable. But there’s a reason why the law requires proof. You’re going to be a Herald. Our job is to protect our Kingdom, right? Your loyalty is to Valdemar, not just the Frelennye Holdings. Right?”

There was a silence. Still sleep-muzzed, Vanyel felt a growing tension, like a string pulled tight inside his body...

“Shut it down!” The tension drained away. “Better,” Savil said gruffly. “I’m sorry, ‘Lendel. This is one of the hardest lessons for any of us... You love your brother, but you need to be able to see when he’s wrong. I’m not saying he’s a bad person, in any way. He’s a seventeen-year-old boy who just lost both his parents, of course he’s upset. But he’s contributing to this mess – you can see that, right? That if Staven really wanted the feud to be over, this would’ve been resolved months ago?”

Another mumble, and Vanyel felt the tension growing again. “Boy!” Savil barked. “Get it under control. Let’s take this to the Work Room before you light anything on fire.”

There were more mumbles, and shuffling sounds, then footsteps. “I’m not enjoying this any more than you, you know,” Vanyel heard Savil mutter before her voice and footsteps faded into the distance.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up fully. So Tylendel had a brother? And there was some kind of problem. A blood feud? The name ‘Leshara’ was vaguely familiar.

 _Leshara’s been trying to hire a mage for months._ He replayed the fragments of conversation in his head, and found he could picture Tylendel perfectly – the way his shoulders would hunch, his wavy hair falling across his face, the way he would gnaw his lower lip – he felt a surge of sheer _wanting_ , stronger than anything he remembered feeling before. He wanted to put his arm around the older boy and pull him close, comfort him, whisper that everything would be all right. And then ‘Lendel would look into his eyes, lean towards him…

He wrenched himself out of the daydream, shaking, and stood up, feeling vaguely ashamed for having accidentally eavesdropped. He ought to be able to make it to his figuring class, if he hurried.

 

* * *

 

Tylendel snapped awake, his eyes flying open, and found himself staring into the near-darkness. For a moment he wasn’t sure what had woken him.

Then, through the wall to his left, he heard a noise – blankets shifting, a thud, then a low moan. He lay as still as he could and waited. There was a longer, higher moan, like an animal in pain... With it, he felt a wave of pain, cold, fear. His Empathy was picking up flashes of Vanyel’s nightmare.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. _:Donni? Mardic?:_ he sent gently, reaching for the other students’ minds. Donni was still fast asleep, as he had expected, but he got a drowsy acknowledgement from Mardic and narrowed his Mindspeech to reach just him. _:Did you hear that? I think Vanyel’s having nightmares again:_

_:Oh? Must’ve woken me:_

He waited. Vanyel usually woke himself up a few seconds after the noise he made awakened his suite-mates. Gods, it hurt to imagine him waking up scared and alone. Tylendel longed to fling himself out of bed and run to Vanyel’s room, to put his arms around him and soothe him. He doubted Vanyel would thank him for it, though.

There was another thump and a low, hoarse cry. _:Mardic?:_ Tylendel mindsent, alarmed. _:Could you go see if he’s all right? I would go, but you know he’s skittish around me:_

 _:I know:_ There were all sorts of overtones in those words, where Mardic’s mind brushed his. Mardic was more perceptive than he looked, he pretty much knew the...feelings he had about Vanyel, and he could probably guess that among other things, Tylendel didn’t trust himself to be alone with Vanyel in his bedroom. _:I’ll go:_

 

* * *

 

_He was in the frozen place again, chilled to the marrow of his bones, but he wasn’t alone. Not yet. Tylendel was there, arms folded, shivering, but meeting his eyes steadily._

_“You have to go,” he heard himself say._

_“No. I can help you, Van! Please, let me stay, let me help you...”_

_“No! You have to understand, I have to – I have to do this alone...”_

_Tylendel took a step forwards, and was suddenly close enough to touch. He reached for Vanyel’s cheek with one hand._

_“No!” Vanyel, panicked, turned to run – and found himself alone in a narrow, frozen valley between two mountains. Something terrible was going to happen – he was going to die – he didn’t know how he knew it, but he knew. The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe, and the wind seemed to blow right through his clothes._

“Vanyel!”

_He was exhausted already, and it hadn’t even begun. He was afraid. Resigned, he had accepted what was going to happen, what had to happen – but now it was here and he was alone, and he was terrified._

“Vanyel!”

He came swimming up out of the frozen whiteness, gasping. There were hands on his shoulders. “Shush, Vanyel, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe. It’s okay, it’s not real–”

The voice was Mardic’s. He started to sit up, and the other boy helped him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. Another time he might have pulled away, but his dignity was already in shreds, and it was surprisingly comforting to have Mardic there. He was shivering hard, drenched in cold sweat, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. His cheeks were wet with tears.

Mardic must have noticed the shivering, and flung his own sleeping robe over Vanyel’s shoulders, wrapping it around both of them. “Deep breaths,” he said gently. There was a moment of building tension in the air, the same kind he had felt the day before when he overheard Tylendel’s conversation with Savil, and suddenly all the candles in the room flared to life.

Vanyel blinked as he noticed that he felt a little warmer. “T-thanks,” he managed after a moment. His voice came was hoarse, and he wondered if he had been screaming in his sleep.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” Mardic squeezed him tight for a moment, then released him. “Better now?”

Vanyel tried to take stock of himself. “J-just c-cold,” he said shakily. The room around him felt half unreal, like it was a theatre backdrop hung to conceal the ice-place behind it. It was hard to tell what the dream had been about, but it felt so real... He blinked again and it faded, the room seeming to become a little more solid.

“I can see that. You’re like ice. Want to get up for a bit and sit by the fire?”

Vanyel nodded, and accepted his own robe when Mardic tossed it to him. Mardic pulled the top blanket, a woollen knit one, off the bed and tossed it over Vanyel’s shoulders for added warmth, then led the way through the hall to the sitting room. He pushed Vanyel down onto the couch and went to build up the fire, skilfully piling logs in place and using his Mage-talent to light them, then bustling to put water on to heat.

Vanyel had finally gotten his breathing under control, and his heart was slowing from its panicked racing. He was still cold, but slowly warming.

“That sounded like a bad one,” Mardic said finally, handing him a mug of herb tea and sitting down next to him on the couch. “Want to talk about it?”

Vanyel stiffened. It was embarrassing enough that his nightmares had woken anyone else, even worse that Mardic must have seen his involuntary tears. If he actually told anyone the content of the dream, they would have to think he was pathetic...

He shook himself a little. Was that true? Mardic seemed genuinely sympathetic. He could be pretending, waiting for his chance to see Vanyel at his most vulnerable and then humiliate him.

Or he could really be trying to help.

“You don’t have to,” Mardic said gently. It was impossible to feel threatened by his soft accent. “Sometimes it helps, I think, sometimes not.”

Vanyel nodded. Hesitated. “I– I’ve had the same dream a few times. It, it doesn’t make a lot of sense… Everything is frozen, it’s all snow and ice. I, I know I’m going to die, and I’m alone, I sent Ty– I sent my friends away, so I’m going to die alone...”

Mardic laid a hand on his shoulder again, squeezed gently. “No, that does make sense,” he said slowly. “I think about dying sometimes. I’m going to be a Herald, s’not a safe job. I can bear it, the risk, ‘cause I’ve got my Companion and my Donni. But if I had to be alone – that would be the worst. I get that. No shame in it.”

Vanyel blinked back fresh tears. To his surprise, though, he did feel better.

Mardic leaned back, sipped his own tea, and watched Vanyel with a thoughtful, appraising expression. “You keep your distance from people, I’ve noticed,” he said finally, slowly, seeming to pay close attention to Vanyel’s response.

 _What’s he playing at?_ Vanyel just looked at him warily.

Mardic shrugged and looked down at his hands, worrying a hangnail. “I was a bit of a loner, too. Still am, except for Donni and Fortin – he’s my Companion, sorry. I never fit in at home. I was the youngest of five brothers on the farm, and all I wanted to do was read and dream.” He looked up again and met Vanyel’s eyes, his face naked and open. “I guess it’s hard to be different.”

The words seemed to hover in the air – offered like a gift, Vanyel thought, with no demand of anything in return, a step in some kind of slow and graceful dance. He knew that if he turned down that overture and changed the subject, Mardic would take that gracefully as well. Somehow that made it easier to accept.

“It is hard to be different,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t fit in so well either.” The ache swelled in his chest, like a tide, and he swallowed hard. “I– I could never be what my father wanted.”

Mardic nodded. “I always wished my father would, just, notice me, I guess. Pay attention for a moment.” He shrugged. “It’s funny, you know? Someone like my da – I’d never care a whit what he thought of me, if it weren’t that he’s my da.” His shoulders trembled for a moment. “I don’t see his way on anything. Thinks women belong in the home and children should know their place, gods, and he thinks people like ‘Lendel are an– an abomination.” He shuddered. “I still wish he’d just be proud of me.”

Vanyel shifted, uncomfortable. “He must be proud that you’re going to be a Herald,” he said awkwardly.

Mardic shrugged. “They’re happy about the stipend the Crown pays them. My ma’s proud, I reckon, but my da don’t– doesn’t approve of Heralds.” He managed a lopsided smile. “Thinks they’re licentious, which is true enough.” His hands were knotting together again. “I’m, not, well… I’m very monogamous, but they don’t, they both disapprove of Donni. She was an apprentice thief before she was Chosen. They won’t hear of having her visit, reckon they think she’ll steal Ma’s jewellery. Haven’t been back in three years.”

He spoke in flat tones, and there was a resigned bitterness behind his calm, controlled expression.

Vanyel hesitated, then reached out and put his hand on the other boy’s shoulder. Mardic looked over and smiled sadly. They sat in silence for a little while, but it was a companionable silence.

“What’s it like, being lifebonded?” he said after a minute.

A slow smile spread across Mardic’s face. “It’s... I don’t even know if I can describe it. It’s more than just being in love. I thought I was in love with a different girl, before I met my Donni. But with Donni, it’s like she’s a part of me.” He tapped his chest. “I can always feel her, right here.” He grimaced for a moment. “It wasn’t easy. Didn’t mean I understood her, which I really didn’t. Or make it easier to talk about things. Used to fight a lot, we still fight sometimes and it’s _awful_ , even if I go off somewhere to cool down I can feel that she’s upset.”

“That sounds hard,” Vanyel said uncertainly.

Mardic’s smile was back, blotting out his frown. “It’s worth it. Wouldn’t give it up in a thousand years.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t wish it on everyone, either. Reckon there’s a reason lifebonds are rare. You know, Savil says the Hawkbrothers believe lifebonds only happen when the gods are meddling.”

“Hawkbrothers?” Vanyel looked dubiously at him.

Mardic grinned. “Oh, yeah, Savil has some Hawkbrother friends.” He gestured at a set of feathered, carved masks hanging over the mantelpiece. “That’s where she got those.”

They sat in silence for a while. He was thinking of Mardic’s smile when he spoke Donni’s name, the light in his face, and what it would be like to have someone look at him like that. Gods. There was a simmering jealousy in his stomach.

“We’re a whole lot of misfits,” Mardic said finally. “Heralds, I mean. I– Maybe you ought to talk to ‘Lendel more. He’s got more in common with you, I think, being highborn. He had a pretty bad time of it, growing up.”

Vanyel felt himself stiffen at the mention of Tylendel’s name. He tried to hide it, but Mardic’s eyelids flickered and he knew the other boy had noticed.

“I’ve noticed you avoid ‘Lendel,” Mardic said after a moment. “Don’t figure you would think his preferences make him an abomination.” He met Vanyel’s eyes steadily. “Think you’re smarter than that, for all that you put your nose in the air.” Mardic’s face looked calm enough, but he was kneading his hands together in his lap. “I– Tylendel likes you, Vanyel. I mean, you’re handsome, clever, athletic, and musically talented – of course he finds you awfully attractive. But I’ve known him for years – he won’t ever do anything that might offend you or make you uncomfortable. Honest, I think he’s gotten a little shy. You don’t need to fear for your virtue around him. And he’s hurt that you’re avoiding him. He’s too proud to let it show, but it does bother him when– when people don’t trust him or feel uncomfortable because he’s shay’a’chern.”

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard from Mardic. Vanyel kept his face impassive, desperately trying to hide his roiling emotions. Tylendel liked him. Tylendel cared about what he thought, enough to be hurt that he was avoiding him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, trying to keep his tone even and light. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Mardic nodded just as casually, and stood up, stifling a yawn. “Goodnight, Vanyel.” He said it so matter-of-factly, with no sign of judgment, and headed back towards the bedrooms.

Vanyel stared at the fire. He had a sneaking feeling that Mardic knew, or suspected, how he felt about Tylendel – and that he had offered another subtle gift, one that only had to mean as much as he chose. His words were perfectly innocent, but at the same time, if he really had guessed how Vanyel felt, he was telling him both that Tylendel felt the same way, and that he would have to be the one to make the first move.

His fists clenched in his lap. _I want to...but I can’t. I don’t dare. If he turns on me...if Father ever found out..._ He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth ached. _I don’t know if I could just be his friend – if I could bear it._ And Father wouldn’t like that either if he found out. But he didn’t want to hurt the other boy either – the thought that he might already have hurt Tylendel made his chest clench painfully. He had no idea what to do.

_It’s not fair. Why can I never have any of the things I want?_

He finally went back to bed, but he lay awake for a long time, his eyes burning and his chest tight.


	8. Chapter Seven

Savil was in a bad mood.

First of all, Tylendel was still bringing her running commentary on everything Vanyel-related, up to the point of telling her every time he had a nightmare. What he wanted her to do about it, she had no idea. At least it sounded like the lad was spending more time with her students, Mardic at least, and a little less time with the more unsavoury of the highborn boys at Court. She was uncomfortable with ‘Lendel’s feelings towards him, which he couldn’t hide from her, though he was trying. He was still very attracted to her nephew, even if she had no idea what he saw in the boy – ‘Lendel wasn’t one to go for a pretty face, usually, and that was the _only_ thing Vanyel seemed to have going for him.

And her student seemed distracted, dangerously so. His control still wasn’t perfect at the best of times, despite three full years of training, and he had nearly hurt himself badly several times in their lessons. She didn’t know what was going on in his head, and he wouldn’t tell her. If she’d been less ethical, she would have considered using her Thoughtsensing to read him.

As if that wasn’t enough, it had been a very frustrating week with the Council. Elspeth was an excellent ruler, but she was a good deal older than she looked, and she had less energy these days to wrangle the councilors into making decisions. So the job fell mostly to Lancir, the Queen’s Own Herald, to Seneschal’s Herald Jaysen – and to Savil, who had no formal role on the Council but was still an extra pair of hands. She had no patience for it. It drove her to distraction every time a decision that could have been made in twenty minutes was dragged out for hours. This time of year was always busy, with the need to set the harvest-tax and treasury budget for the next year, and thus to debate and make compromises with a room full of stiff-necked nobles all trying to advance their own landholdings and interests.

She wasn’t getting enough sleep.She knew that it was irresponsible of her – that fatigue impaired her judgment, and that she ought to push back, refuse some of the work they kept piling on her, or at least let Lancir know how she was feeling. But she had never been especially good at that.

It was after midnight, and she was trudging back from yet another too-long meeting with a room full of stiff old goats. Her hips ached – as summer drew to an end, it was starting to get cold at night, though the days were still hot – and she thought longingly of her bed. She really ought to finish looking at Jaysen’s tax proposals before her meeting with him and the Seneschal tomorrow morning.

When she reached the suite, she saw to her surprise that the fire was built up in the sitting room, and a few candles were lit. There was a blanket-wrapped figure hunched up on the couch – a slight figure with black hair.

He must have heard her footsteps, but he didn’t look up. “Vanyel?” she said cautiously. His shoulders twitched, but he still didn’t raise his head. She sighed and walked around until she could see his face. He didn’t look good, she thought – he was even paler than usual, with dark shadows under his eyes. Those silver eyes met hers for a second, but he seemed dazed. Maybe there was more to what ‘Lendel had been saying than she’d given him credit for.

She sat down next to him, sighing as she eased her weight off her feet. “Lad, are you all right?” She made her voice as gentle as possible. “Can’t sleep?”

He shrugged and said nothing.

She chewed her lip. _:’Lendel?:_ she reached out, but the boy was asleep. So was Mardic. Damn them! She knew she wasn’t any good at this.

“Listen,” she said, her voice coming out gruff despite her best efforts. “I know your father’s made things hard for you, and I reckon this isn’t the life you wanted – being your father’s heir, I mean.” What could she say to him? “I know what it’s like, not being able to have what you want. I– When I was your age, I wanted the Holding, but I was a girl and couldn’t inherit.” She hesitated, not sure whether those words would help or make it worse – after all, she had wanted the very thing that he was being forced into unwilling! “But things turned out right,” she said finally. “I’m glad I didn’t inherit, in the end. I guess what I’m trying to say, is, you can’t just let yourself be a victim of your circumstances. Most of us don’t get all the things we want. Hell, there are kids on the streets of Haven who would trade lives with you in a heartbeat. But you’re a clever lad. You’ll make a good Lord Holder someday, if you can do it on your own terms.” Meaningless platitudes, really, but maybe they would help – Kellan always said so. She trailed off, unsure what else to say. Vanyel’s face was unreadable. Finally, she patted his shoulder awkwardly.

He only looked at her, expressionless. She sighed. “I need to sleep, boy. You should get some sleep too.”

He stood up and offered a hand to her, which was thoughtful of him – it was the sort of thing she would have expected from Tylendel, not Vanyel. But his face was pinched and closed. She took his hand and levered herself up off the couch, biting down a groan. _I’m not looking forwards to another winter with these old bones._

Maybe she ought to talk to Mardic in the morning, ask him to keep an eye on her nephew. It would be awfully inconvenient if the boy made himself ill, pining.

 

* * *

 

Vanyel paced through Companion’s Field. Dawn was approaching, the horizon lightening to grey. The air was chilly on his skin, and his feet, encased in soft felt boots that were properly meant to be worn indoors, were soaked with dew.

His eyes ached, and he knew he ought to try to sleep, but he was tired of waking up in tears from the ice-dream, and after Savil’s words his chest still felt hot with a mix of anger and shame.

He wanted to hate her. She was so cold, callous, it was as though she had never had a human feeling. Telling him that she’d been upset when she wasn’t the heir, and expecting him to feel better, when clearly she’d succeeded beyond all bounds as a Herald. Telling him he was playing the victim, shaming him–

There was a bit of truth to it, though. He had been letting things happen to him, and feeling sorry for himself, focusing on how unfair his life was, rather than on what he did have.

His conversation with Mardic a few days ago had been startling – in particular, the casual mention that of course Tylendel would find him attractive.

_Father might think I’m worthless, but not everyone does._

If he dared to believe Mardic, anyway. 

Live on your own terms, Savil had said. She certainly had! He had thought of running away, but she had actually followed through and run away when she was only fourteen, a year younger than he was now. And Lissa’s life wasn’t very fair either, but she hadn’t sat around feeling sorry for herself either – she had schemed and pushed Father until she got her place at Brendan Keep, and she was throwing herself into her training and had already been as good as guaranteed a place in the Guard.

...He felt a pang of guilt, and promised himself he would write Lissa today. Come to think of it, he probably ought to write to Mother as well.

Anyway. He might have been denied his dream of being a Bard, but as Breda had been trying very hard to tell him, he hadn’t been denied music itself. As much as Father might want to take that away from him, he _couldn’t_. He hadn’t been able to even when Vanyel was living in the keep.

And then there was Tylendel. _Gods, I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything_. He couldn’t stop thinking about the other boy. Or dreaming about him, damn it.

The infatuation would fade with time, if he didn’t act. At some point Tylendel would go out on his internship circuit, and Vanyel might never see him again. That would make it easier, maybe. He would marry a girl that Father had approved of, and do his duty to produce heirs. It would be bearable–

But there was some kind of barrier rising up in him, a wordless cry of refusal, as inevitable as a spring flood. 

On your own terms, Savil had said.

He could feel his fists clenching again at his sides as he walked. He could let Father control him even from hundreds of leagues away. Or – or he could take a risk.

 _What’s the worst he could do, disown me?_ He didn’t especially want that to happen, but how bad would it really be? His hand was doing better, hells, Breda had praised his music; if Father disowned him, he could probably make his way as a minstrel somewhere very far away. Father might try to have him declared insane and locked up, or sent off to a cloistered temple, rather than disowning him outright, but if it came to that, he thought there was a good chance Savil would be willing to help. And this was only if Father found anything out. If he could keep it secret...

Hells, and maybe he was just confused – maybe a night with Tylendel would show him that he wasn’t _shay’a’chern_ at all. But if he _didn’t_ try, he thought he might wonder forever.

He patted the pocket of his tunic. Father’s letter was there, and for all that it was only a thin sheaf of paper, it almost seemed to burn him through the cloth. He didn’t want to read it; it was going to hurt.

_But maybe it’s time I faced that pain._

Abruptly he sat down a log, took out the letter, and ran his thumbnail through the seal.

 

> _To Savil Ashkevron from Lord_ Withen _Ashkevron,_
> 
> _I am grateful to you for taking Vanyel in, and I hope that you can make a man of him, which I have not been able to do despite all of my efforts. I have heard you are a hard teacher to please, and perhaps he will be more inclined to_ fulfil _your expectation than mine. The boy is too stubborn, rather like his father, even if he is too like his mother in many other ways. Perhaps he will be better motivated to learn from a Herald such as_ yourself, _since Heralds have their part in all the poetry that he likes to read._
> 
> _I would like it if you could see that he meets some sensible young ladies that you approve of. I wonder if an intelligent young woman will please him better than what we have been able to show him so far. I hope that is the reason he has shown so little interest! In any case, this is one place where his good looks will be an advantage. I am sure a great many fine ladies would be very happy to be courted by him._
> 
> _I know that I am asking a great deal of you; I pray that you will recognize your duty to our family._
> 
> _By my seal,_
> 
> _Withen Ashkevron_

 

He set the letter down. It was...not what he had expected. Oh, Father’s opinions definitely showed through, but he didn’t normally speak this lucidly or with this level of self-reflection. Other than that, there was nothing surprising here, and it changed nothing. He slowly shredded the letter into small pieces, letting bits of paper float down onto the ground. As he did, he felt his back straighten. The wordless cry of refusal was now a wordless song, broad and powerful as the river.

Now, when would his next good chance be to get Tylendel alone?

 

* * *

 

Instead of going to Court, he took a late supper with Savil and her students that night. He did his best to make friendly conversation with them, though it felt strained, and he made sure to smile at Tylendel a great deal. He stopped trying to resist the temptation of watching him when he wasn’t looking. Gods, he was nervous. Tylendel definitely noticed something was up; he was smiling back, but he looked confused.

Savil didn’t seem to notice a thing. She looked tired and distracted and she ate without speaking much, except when she snapped at Donni to stop chewing with her mouth open. She left after only a few minutes, rushing off to some kind of meeting.

Mardic had noticed, though; he watched the two of them with a smug little smirk, and kept exchanging glances with Donni, whose eyes were sparkling. He thought they might be Mindspeaking with each other; they tended to hold their own silent conversations, occasionally bursting into unexpected laughter, it was uncomfortable but he had tried to get used to it. Gods, he didn’t especially want Donni turning her questionable sense of humour on him and his prospects with ‘Lendel.

After they had finished, Mardic took Donni’s arm and suggested they go practice their concert work. Vanyel had the feeling he knew exactly what he was about to do, which was…well, discomfiting, but what was he supposed to do about it?

Trying to hide the trembling in his hands, Vanyel smiled at Tylendel and offered to refill his cup from the jug of watered wine. _Gods, now what am I supposed to do?_ He had thought he was fairly comfortable with the Game of Courtship – but that was when the steps in the dance were clearly laid out – and, he had to admit, when he didn’t actually care. A number of things were much easier when one didn’t care.

He steeled himself, reached out, and very deliberately laid his hand over Tylendel’s. Tylendel froze and let out an undignified squeak.

 

* * *

 

Mardic had just finished centering and grounding, and was preparing to throw a link to Donni, when a frantic mindvoice completely shattered his concentration.

_:Mardic! Help!:_

He held up a hand to Donni, and pushed away irritation. _:’Lendel? What is it?:_

_:I think Vanyel’s flirting with me!:_

He laughed out loud. Donni stared at him, confused, and he reached out with his mind and pulled her into the link.

 _:Why are you laughing at me?:_ Accusation. _:You – you knew this was going to happen!:_

Mardic was bent over laughing by now. _:Dammit, Tylendel, you’re the only one who didn’t! It’s been completely obvious for weeks!:_

A hesitation. Tylendel really _hadn’t_ noticed how Vanyel looked at him, Mardic thought.

 _:This is such a bad idea:_ ‘Lendel sent, and Mardic could feel the confusion and hope and, well, lust, all mixed together under the words. _:Savil will skin me alive:_

 _:Since when have you ever let that stop you?:_ Donni, sparkling with laughter. _:Come on, get it over with so you can stop distracting us with all that pent-up sexual tension:_

Trust Donni to put it that way. She wasn’t wrong, but…

He felt Tylendel’s decision. _:Well, I hope I don’t regret this:_

 

* * *

 

Tylendel was still staring at him, wide-eyed, fifteen seconds later. He hadn’t said anything – but he hadn’t moved his hand away either.

Vanyel could feel his cheeks growing hot, but it was too late to back out now. He’d practiced what he wanted to say, but every word seemed to have deserted him. He swallowed hard. “’Lendel, I– I like you a lot.” His flush deepened. _Now you sound like you’re twelve._ “I wasn’t sure at first, and – and I don’t know how to tell for sure if I’m _shay’a’chern_ like you _,_ and– and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, we can still be friends, but, but I just wanted you to know.” He sucked in a deep breath. There was cold sweat on the back of his neck, and his heart was racing. It was hard to breathe. What if he had misjudged this completely – was Tylendel about to laugh at him? What if he told everyone? If Father found out–

“Come here, you.” Tylendel’s voice was rough. He reached for Vanyel’s shoulder with his free hand, and pulled him in, with some force. Vanyel was torn between whether to lean in or pull away, and didn’t have time to do either before ‘Lendel’s lips met his.

It was like catching fire. He lost track of everything for a second, caught up in the sheer electric feeling of it. His heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. Tylendel’s hand was twined into his hair, holding him so he couldn’t escape even if he’d wanted to. Which he wasn’t sure. Whether he wanted to. He felt like he was melting.

When Tylendel finally pulled away, he was dizzy. It was too much, it was hard to breathe again, he didn’t know what to do with the weight of ‘Lendel’s eyes on him. He wanted to run away, and at the same time he didn’t, he wanted to be exactly where he was, and…

“Oh, Vanyel...” Tylendel was gazing at him with a very hungry expression. “We can’t stay here, someone might come in. Come with me.”

Vanyel let himself be pulled to his feet, he wasn’t sure what was about to happen, or whether he wanted it, but it was too late to back out now.

 

* * *

 

Maybe a candlemark later, his mind was still trying to catch up with what had just happened, as he lay against ‘Lendel’s chest with his heartbeat gradually slowing to normal. It was completely dark; ‘Lendel’s first action had been to blow out the candles. After which they hadn’t done any talking, just, well, awkward fumbling in the dark – though ‘Lendel had seemed to know what he was doing.

And he hadn’t exactly done anything to stop him.

It was hard to figure out how he felt about that. He was feeling a lot of things. It was nearly impossible to think, with ‘Lendel so close, the warmth of his skin, the scent of his hair… It was distracting and wonderful and too much, and some part of him wanted to feel safe in the other boy’s arms – safer than he’d ever felt before, even with Lissa. And he didn’t trust the feeling; it frightened him a lot more than the comfortable indifference he’d felt for any of the girls he’d bedded, afterwards.

 _I can’t believe I just did that._ Now, after the fact, it disturbed him. How he’d let ‘Lendel touch him, how much he had wanted it… _I made a fool of myself_ , he thought bitterly. Gods, he wanted ‘Lendel to like him, to respect him, more so than he’d ever wanted even his father’s approval, and he couldn’t imagine he’d impressed the other boy, not with his inexperienced awkwardness.

…And there was the quiet tide in him that tugged at his thoughts, whispering a song of safety, trying the wash away the fear.

…And that was the most dangerous part, it was terrifying, he had never felt so vulnerable. There was no space left in his head for masks or cloaks or any kind of protection.

 _I barely know him_ , he thought, _I shouldn’t feel this way._ But he did. And now his heart was fluttering anxiously again, and he could feel his cheeks growing warm, thankfully invisible in the dark. He tried to lie still, spinning in search of something to focus on, it felt like trying to remember how to be a person.

Gods, he couldn’t believe the risk he had taken – if ‘Lendel turned on him now, if Savil found out, his father would find out, and how could he have ever thought he could hide it from Savil, they lived together, he was doomed, Withen would call him back to Forst Reach, the _least_ bad thing he would do was disown him, he’d call him a pervert and maybe he was _right_ , damn it–

He must have moved, or stiffened, because he felt ‘Lendel turn towards him, breath warm and tickling his cheek. “Van? You alright?”

His breath caught and his eyes prickled, damn it, he was fighting for control and couldn’t find it, there was no solid point to anchor on. He blinked hard _,_ swallowed, _I won’t cry I won’t cry I won’t cry…_

Quiet alarm came into ‘Lendel’s voice, and he pulled back slightly. “What’s wrong? Van?”

That was all he could take, and suddenly he was sobbing.

“Hey, hey, hey.” ‘Lendel’s arms tightened around him again, and he started to pull away and then gave in, there was no point in dignity anymore, and curled up against him. ‘Lendel was saying things that he couldn’t hear, he wasn’t really tracking any of it anymore. And even with the humiliation of it, it was a relief to let go. He couldn’t stop; it was like he’d unblocked a dam, and he cried for what felt like hours, so hard he could barely breathe – and he’d given himself the hiccups, which really hurt. ‘Lendel was still there, still holding him, as carefully as though he were made of glass.

Finally, the sobs slowed. He was exhausted, shaking, and he felt drained of all feelings – but not empty, and not cold, ‘Lendel was there and his presence seemed to take up the whole world, a promise of shelter and protection forever, Vanyel still didn’t trust it but he was too worn out to fight it anymore.

“Better?” The trainee stroked his hair, then pulled away a little and scooted up on his elbows in the bed. There was a moment of tension in Vanyel’s stomach, and then candlelight, red-gold through his closed eyelids. “Hmm. Any chance you’ve got something as common as a handkerchief in here?” The scrape of a drawer opening. “Here.”

Vanyel opened his eyes, which were sore and gummy, and sat up, taking the offered handkerchief and blowing his nose. He was still trembling. He could feel more than see ‘Lendel watching him in his peripheral vision. After a moment, the other boy gently reached to put his arm around his shoulders, and Vanyel didn’t pull away.

“Van, talk to me. Please.” ‘Lendel’s voice was anxious, unguarded. “I– I’ve got Empathy, remember? I can feel that, that you’re hurting. What’s bothering you?”

He shook his head, helplessly. “I d-don’t know.” There was too much to put into words, a tangled confusion of emotions he couldn’t even name.

“It’s okay. Van, I would never hurt you. I promise! Please believe me. I– I care about you. Really.”

He only nodded, unable to speak.

“Is it – are you worried about people finding out? What your father would think?”

Among other things. He nodded weakly.

“Well, no one will find out. I promise. And… And your father’s _wrong_ , even, even though I know you still care what he thinks… He’s wrong, okay?”

Vanyel nodded again, it was easier than trying to reply. What did it matter if Withen was wrong? What did it even mean for him to be wrong, when he could still do anything he liked to his son?

“Hmm. Van, does this have anything to do with the nightmares you have?”

He stiffened. “How do you–”

“Empathy, remember? And my room shares a wall with yours. I, it doesn’t make me think anything less of you, I promise, but – it would help me understand. What could be so bad that someone as brave as you–”

“I’m not–”

‘Lendel squeezed his shoulders. “Don’t give me that. You… I know how much courage it took to tell me how you felt. I’ve been in that position before.”

He didn’t want to think about the dream, much less talk about it, but he didn’t know how to refuse either. “I… I’m in a place made of ice,” he said dully. “I’m alone, I’ve sent my f-friends away, I know I’m going to die. Alone.” _You’re in it sometimes_ , he thought but didn’t say; it wasn’t like it was the only time ‘Lendel had ever featured in his dreams. “That’s about it.”

“Gods, that sounds awful.” He felt the shudder go through the other boy’s body. “But…you’re not alone, okay? You don’t have to be. Ever.”

That was… He didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t.

“I think I understand more.” ‘Lendel’s voice was earnest. “You’ve never had anyone really on your side, have you? Just people who disapproved of you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But you can trust me. I promise. I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you.”

There was so much blazing sincerity in his voice, Vanyel couldn’t contradict it. Even if he couldn’t really believe it either. So he said nothing, and just let his head fall against ‘Lendel’s shoulder. He was so tired. Tired of running and hiding, tired of never being able to do anything right, of never being what other people wanted… And ‘Lendel wanted him, it frightened him but he couldn’t deny it seemed true. _And I want him_ , and that was frightening too, _and I want to trust him_ , and that was worse, but he couldn’t muster the energy to fight it. Not right now, not when he was warm and comfortable and ‘Lendel’s fingers were playing with his hair. 

They sat like that for a long time, in silence. He was sleepy – he tried to resist it, halfheartedly, he didn’t want to be any more vulnerable, but it was late and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks, really. His eyelids were getting heavy. He stifled a yawn.

‘Lendel shifted. “Hey. Um. Should I go?”

“No, stay.” The words slipped out before Vanyel’s mouth consulted his brain, and he was too embarrassed to take them back.

“All right.” He could hear the smile in the other boy’s voice. “Sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

‘Lendel scooted down under the blankets, and pulled Vanyel down with him. “Goodnight, peacock.” There was no mockery in the words. “You’re wonderful, did you know that?”


	9. Chapter Eight

Savil woke with pale sunlight blazing through her closed eyelids. She wasn’t in her own bed, and she froze with her eyes still closed and held perfectly still until she remembered where she was, which was Andrel’s bed. Right. She remembered running into him after the meetings finally ended, taking him up on his invitation to join him for a glass of wine in his quarters, and gratefully accepting when he suggested she stay there rather than walk all the way back to her suite in the early hours of the morning.

Of course, staying had come with some other advantages.

She heard the sound of cloth over skin, and opened her eyes a crack to see Andrel pulling on his deep green Healer’s robes. That must have been what had awakened her.

“Morning,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow.

Andrel glanced over. “Sleep well? I’m afraid I can’t stay, I’m already rather late, but don’t feel you have to get up just because I have work to do.”

“I’ve got work to do as well.” She yawned and sat up all the way, not bothering to keep the sheet pulled over her naked body. “Where did my clothes end up, do you think?” Andrel pointed with his chin and she saw her Whites crumpled at the foot of the bed. Great. Now she would have to walk back to her own suite with them all wrinkled.

A few minutes later, she was making her way through the Palace grounds. The sun was well up, it was much later than she usually rose – then again, it had been a late night. _:Tylendel?:_ she Mindsent, trying to remember what his class schedule was today. _:I’m afraid I rather overslept and I might need to push our lesson back:_

His mind brushed against hers, sleepy, full of apple-flavoured laughter, satisfaction like warm honey, bright as the sunlight warming her cheeks. _:I gather you had a good night, teacher?:_ There were a lot of overtones there, even though he seemed to be shielding tighter than usual. Which was considerate of him, giving what she was picking up.

Despite herself, she laughed out loud. _:You rascal! It sounds like you had a good night of your own. Care to tell me what you were doing?:_ She felt him start to reply, defensiveness and embarrassment rising, and cut him off. _:That was rhetorical, please don’t actually tell me, I don’t need to know:_ She ought not to encourage him. _:You’d better be ready for our lesson in two candlemarks:_

She felt his reluctance. _:Yes, teacher:_

She didn’t remember any indication that he was pursuing someone, so it must have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Hopefully not one he would regret. _:Are you even at home?:_

 _:Yes:_ There was an odd reticence to his thoughts.

 _:Well, you’ve got a candlemark until I’m back:_ She might as well go to the bathhouse first, give him the chance to avoid any more embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

Tylendel pulled back from the mind-contact with Savil and rolled over. It was well past dawn, and yellow sunlight streamed in through the high window and the glazed door, the beams catching a few motes of dust in the air. And giving him a spectacular view of the boy sleeping next to him.

Gods, Vanyel was handsome. He had been captivating even last night, by dim candlelight and his face puffy and blotched with crying. Now, just looking at him made his breath catch. His hair fanned out across the pillow, so black it shone with blue highlights in the light, contrasting sharply with the ivory pallor of his skin. His face, relaxed in sleep, was as unguarded as a child’s. Even last night he hadn’t been relaxed like this.

Tylendel didn’t even want to think too hard about it, in case it turned out to be a dream.

He was nervous, though. He remembered the last time he’d woken up in bed with someone else, and it hadn’t exactly gone well. And Van had seemed happy, last night, he’d asked him to stay, but…well, Tylendel didn’t really understand what had been going on with all the crying. Not that it made him think worse of the other boy at all, he’d been telling the truth about that. He’d wanted to hold Vanyel forever, keep him safe from whatever and whoever had hurt him so much. He still wanted to, with an intensity that amazed him. It didn’t make any _sense_ how much he cared; he had never felt this way before.

Probably best if Savil didn’t come home to find him in Van’s room just yet, though. She would find out sooner or later, it was inevitable, especially if Van _didn’t_ immediately say it had been a mistake and this turned out to be more than a one-night thing – and his chest clenched at the thought that that might _not_ be what happened. But there was no helping it.

He took a deep breath and reached to gently tap Vanyel’s shoulder. “Heya, Van.”

Vanyel’s eyes flickered open, and yet again he was amazed by the colour, like quicksilver. He looked confused for a moment, a tiny frown-line appearing between his brows, and then his eyes found Tylendel and he smiled, a wide-open smile like a breaking sunrise that made his heart skip a beat. His Empathy seemed more attuned to the other boy, too, and he picked up a waft of surprised joy.

…And then some kind of shutter came down, and Vanyel looked away and started to sit up.

“Sleep okay?” Tylendel said, forcing his voice to stay light.

“Better than I expected.” Vanyel wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Um. It’s kind of late, isn’t it? I’d better get to weapons practice.” The control was back in his face and voice, slipping over him like a veil.

“I guess you’d better.” Tylendel took a deep breath, deliberately relaxed his shoulders. It hurt to hear that guardedness, but what else had he expected? _I mustn’t scare him,_ he thought, and it would be so easy. He still didn’t understand the knot of contradictions that was Vanyel, but he knew the other boy was afraid of _something_ , and that he tried so hard to hide it. And that it was a big deal, for him to cry in front of anyone else, to show that kind of weakness ever – but he still didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know what any of it meant.

Vanyel dressed in silence. Tylendel tried not to watch him too intently as he retrieved his own clothes. “Um, I’d better get ready for my lessons,” he said. “See you later?” In a burst of impulsive courage, he leaned in and kissed Vanyel’s forehead. Vanyel closed his eyes and leaned into it for half a second, then pulled away again.

Back in his own room, Tylendel leaned against the closed door and took slow, deep breaths. _At least he didn’t say it was a mistake._

Yet.

 

* * *

 

Savil winced as, yet again, her student’s shield wavered. She aborted the attack she had been about to send, the power looping and coursing back through her mage-channels. And sighed. _:’Lendel, focus:_

 _:Sorry, teacher:_ She couldn’t pick up much emotion along with the words; his shields were still tight, leaving only the narrow channel of formal Mindspeech. Which would have been fine in itself, she ought to encourage him to be less familiar with her, but…well, it bothered her. And with him so distracted like this. He was going to hurt himself badly if she didn’t watch out.

She sighed, and pulled herself up from her stool. _“_ Drop it,” she said out loud. “Properly, please. I think we need to talk.”

“Why?” His voice was still absent as he started unweaving the shield.

She groaned. “‘Lendel, I can tell that something’s bothering you. I haven’t seen you this out of it since, well, since Nevis. I don’t want to pry in your personal life… But. Want to talk about it?”

He looked warily at her.

She sighed again. “Listen. I’m pretty sure you were with someone last night. Yeah? And now you’re so distracted you can’t hold a shield. What’s going on?”

He hesitated, chewing his lip.

“‘Lendel,” she said warningly.

He looked away, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “Um. It was Vanyel.”

“WHAT?” The word burst out of her before she could stop herself. “Tylendel Frelennye, I cannot believe – Gods! Did you really seduce my nephew? I told you he was off limits! Please tell me you’re joking.” Though why he would joke about something like this, she had no idea.

A faint flush had blossomed across his cheeks. “I… It wasn’t like that! Savil, I swear I was being good and keeping my distance! I never did anything, I never _said_ anything, but he – he approached me.”

Oh. That was unexpected. “Still. Did you consider that maybe it wasn’t a good idea?”

The flush deepened. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then, unexpectedly, his face crumpled. “I’m not sure it was a good idea! I, he…” He trailed off.

She bit back a groan. “How did he feel about it this morning?”

“I don’t know! I mean, I, I think he was happy to see me, if you’d seen the way he smiled… But he did that thing he does and went all distant. What if – what if I scared him off?”

She covered her face with her hand. “What if you did? You could’ve thought of that last night!” And she had to live with both of them, she thought but didn’t say out loud. Awkward morning-after regrets were a very different proposition with someone you couldn’t just avoid forever after.

 _:You would know:_ Kellan added in her mind, a little waspishly. She ignored him. Her Companion was clearly irritated with her, for some reason, but she didn’t have time to figure out why right now.

‘Lendel groaned and sat down against the wall, letting his head fall back onto the stones. _:Savil, I really like him:_ he sent, switching to Mindspeech. _:I really, really like him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I can’t stop thinking about him:_

She almost said something disparaging, but he had opened his shields to her now and she could sense the tangled mix of longing, fear, and a tenderness she had never picked up from him before. Not even with Nevis. She said nothing.

 _:I made him cry last night:_ he sent, full of overtones of regret and embarrassment and pain. _:I have no idea what I said or did, gods, I felt terrible:_

She tried to picture Vanyel crying, and failed. _:What, really?:_

_:Yeah. He wouldn’t really talk about it, but my Empathy was picking up some things – he was terrified. And hurting so much. It has something to do with the nightmares he has, maybe something to do with his father. I don’t know! I just wish he would talk to me about it!:_

She grimaced. _:You can’t force someone to talk about something they don’t want to:_ Damn it, this was a mess. ‘Lendel always fell for people hard, and he seemed to have fallen even harder than usual this time. And she had no idea what to tell him, other than ‘could you possibly have picked someone worse?’

 _:You should talk to him, find out how he’s feeling. Maybe he just needs more space:_ She knew that in her own relationships, she had a tendency to pull back if anyone seemed too interested too quickly – or too interested at all, really. Talking about it didn’t always help, but not talking about it never helped.

 _:I think you’re right:_ She hated how miserable he sounded. _:Savil, what if I did something wrong? What if I ruined it?:_

She groaned. _:’Lendel, if you could ruin it that easily, I don’t think it could ever have worked. But don’t get ahead of yourself. You might ask Mardic for advice, sounds like he and Van get along:_ She patted his shoulder firmly, then used it and the wall to push herself up. Her knees creaked. “No point in any more lessons today,” she said out loud, more cheerfully than she felt. “I suppose I can see why you can’t concentrate. Well, if he turns up and he does want to keep seeing you, I want to talk to you both.” Gods, she hoped that it would turn out to be a one-night thing. This was going to be very complicated otherwise. She didn’t even want to think about her brother’s reaction if he found out.

 

* * *

 

Vanyel muffled a grunt as he slammed into the floor of the salle again. He really, really couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t stop thinking about ‘Lendel. About things they’d done last night, each memory sending waves of mixed excitement and shame through him. About how safe he had felt with ‘Lendel’s arms around him, and how little sense that made. How he’d made a fool of himself, crying, like a child. How desperately he wanted ‘Lendel to think well of him, and how wrong and dangerous that felt.

He pulled himself to his feet, wincing at the new bruises, and retrieved his sword – it had gone flying halfway across the room. Lord Oden said nothing, just looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t sleep well last night.” It was a complete lie; he’d slept better than he had in months. “Um, homework.”

Lord Oden nodded, impassive, then glanced up at the window and the angle of the sun. “I won’t say I’m pleased, boy, but I might as well let you go now. Try to get some more rest tonight, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He made his way back through the grounds, weapons and padding in hand. It was a beautiful day, warm and clear, but he barely noticed it. There was a tangled mix of unnameable feelings simmering in his chest. He went into his room through the garden door, put away his equipment, and then looked at the door to the rest of the suite. Lunch would be out, now – but he had no appetite, and he didn’t want to see Tylendel. Not until he’d better sorted out how he felt. How he wanted to feel. He couldn’t think when the other boy was around him, hells, he could barely think even now. His room still _smelled_ a little bit like Tylendel and it was incredibly distracting.

He left again by the garden door and started walking, not sure where he was intending to go until he found himself in the grove in Companions’ Field. Once he was out of sight, alone and surrounded only by trees, he felt able to relax. A little. He paced back and forth in the shadow of the trees, full of restless energy.

 _What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stop thinking about him?_ He tried to pull at the memory of the ice-dream, searching for that calm and peace, but it wouldn’t come.

He wanted ‘Lendel to pin him to the wall and kiss him – and he wanted to be hundreds of miles away as fast as he could. He could still feel the place where the other boy had kissed his forehead, like being touched by a candle flame. Gods. He had thought he was infatuated before, but this was a thousand times worse. The bottom had dropped out of the world and he was still falling, out of control.

 _You can trust me_ , ‘Lendel had said, _I promise I’ll never hurt you_. But how could he trust someone he’d known for only a few weeks? How could he have trusted him enough to jump in bed with him? Gods, it was still hard to believe he’d gone and done that, taken that risk. It could be the biggest mistake he had ever made, far worse than misjudging Jervis and getting his arm broken. What if Father found out?

Too late to take it back now.

And he wasn’t sure he could regret it. He couldn’t remember ever being as happy as he’d been this morning, waking up to ‘Lendel’s voice and his touch. He had wanted to cling to that moment forever.

 

* * *

 

Tylendel sighed and let his head fall onto his folded arms. It was nearly time for his first afternoon class, and there was still no sign of Vanyel, who should have been back from weapons lessons a candlemark ago. Vanyel was avoiding him, he thought dully, he must have been regretting last night. It seemed obvious, unavoidable. What else could he possibly have expected?

And yet there had been that smile, today, before he hid behind his masks again.

_:Gala, I don’t know what to do!:_

His Companion had been staying respectfully back, as she usually did during his romantic entanglements. He thought that she found his messy emotions baffling. She sent a wave of reassurance and love in response, but no suggestions.

“‘Lendel?” His head jerked up. The voice belonged to Mardic, who was standing in the doorway, taking off his boots. “What’s wrong? You look, I don’t know, something.” His eyebrows rose. “I thought, last night, Van…?” He trailed off on a question mark.

Tylendel tried to speak, swallowed, and switched to Mindspeech. _:Last night was incredible, but he’s avoiding me now:_

 _:Is he?:_ Overtones of concern, but not surprise. _:Want to talk about it?:_

 _:No. Yes. Maybe:_ His feelings were such a tangle. _:Mardic, I feel like I ruined it somehow!:_

The other boy came to him and pulled him up by the arm. “Come on, let’s talk in your room.”

Sitting on his bed, he did feel more centered, somehow, and Mardic had poured him a generous portion of watered wine, which he handed to him.

 _:So, tell me about it:_ he sent.

Tylendel took a deep breath and briefly went through the previous night’s events, in broad strokes, up until the point when Vanyel had completely unexpectedly burst into tears. _:I felt awful about it, Mardic! I don’t know what I did wrong:_

Mardic was sitting cross-legged on a backwards chair, arms folded over the chair-back. He propped his chin on his hands. _:What did you say right before?:_

He tried to think back. _:I don’t know. I’m not sure I said anything? I mean, we weren’t doing a lot of talking:_

Mardic looked thoughtful. _:I wonder. So he came to you and expressed interest, and you kissed him and then went to his room and did other stuff… Did you check in with him at any point? Ask him if it was what he wanted?:_

Tylendel tried to think. _:No, I just – I thought he was enjoying it. I mean…maybe I got carried away? He never told me to stop!:_

Mardic grimaced. _:Did it occur to you that you went way too fast? Even if he didn’t tell you to stop. Hells, even if he was enjoying it! I mean, this was his first time with a man, right? He was probably really nervous – and I know Van, sometimes I swear he’d rather die than look foolish in front of anyone. I reckon he would’ve been too embarrassed to say anything:_

 _:Really?:_ Tylendel stared at him, then covered his face with his hands. _:Do you think I pushed him too hard? That’s awful, I, I can’t believe…:_

Mardic lifted his head, shrugged. _:Maybe. Easy to have that sort of miscommunication. But you should talk to him now:_ His eyes were sympathetic. _:You really like him, don’t you?:_

Of course Mardic could tell; it was impossible to hide those kinds of feelings in Mindspeech. _:I’ve never felt this way before:_ he sent. _:I, I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I could never love anyone else:_

 _:Well, fair enough:_ Mardic had the grace not to look dubious. _:Gods, don’t tell him that, though. At least not yet. I can’t think of anything more likely than a promise of undying love forever to send Van running for the hills:_

Tylendel pushed a bit of hair out of his eyes. _:Why is he so scared, do you think?:_

Another shrug. _:Remember what you were like, when you first came to Haven?:_

He shuddered; he didn’t think he could ever forget that. He remembered hiding behind doorways, jumping at every noise, flinching away from Savil’s attempts to speak to him. He hadn’t trusted anyone except for his twin, Staven, now a two-week journey away, though their twin-bond kept them in some sort of contact. And Gala, of course. It had taken Gala months to persuade him that the Heralds wouldn’t turn him out onto the streets, that they really were honest, that they really did care about him just because he was a future Herald. It had taken longer to really trust Savil – to see the warmth and caring that lived behind her somewhat cold exterior.

Vanyel didn’t seem like that at all; he had composure, he wore his pretty clothes like armour and that chilly arrogance like a shield. Even back at the beginning he remembered thinking it was hiding something.

 _:I want to talk to him:_ he sent miserably, _:but I haven’t the faintest idea where he is!:_ He thought of something, reached out. _:Gala, have you seen him?:_

 _:No, love:_ She sounded a little amused.

Mardic shrugged. _:He’ll come back sooner or later. I mean, he has to, he lives here. If he’s hiding somewhere, I reckon it’s because he needs space to think:_ He glanced up, smiled a little. _:For what it’s worth, I think he likes you a lot, too. Just…be careful with him, okay?:_

 

* * *

 

Vanyel stood up from the log where he sat and paced again. He must have been in the grove for several candlemarks, hells, if he wasn’t careful he was going to miss History – but he couldn’t face going back to the suite. Couldn’t face any of it. He wouldn’t be able to focus at all, and he had no idea what to do about it.

A twig snapped, and he spun around, and immediately yelped and jumped sideways, bouncing off a tree.

“Van?”

‘Lendel stood uncertainly, looking at him. It was like a bolt of lightning through him; his heart rate immediately doubled, and he felt hot and cold at the same time.

He pulled at the tattered shreds of his composure. Took a deep breath. Running away now would be too undignified to consider. “Heya. Um, what are you doing here?”

‘Lendel shrugged. “This is one of my favourite places to come when I – when I need to think.” He smiled crookedly, looked down at the ground. “I wasn’t looking for you or anything, um, but since you’re here – I did want to talk. Um. I, I thought I should apologize.”

“For what?”

‘Lendel flushed. “For being pushy, um, I didn’t check with you if you wanted, um, what we were doing last night. If you were comfortable with it. I should’ve at least asked.”

 _This is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had_ , Vanyel thought dully.

A beat of silence. ‘Lendel scuffed his feet in the dirt. “Van, I – I like you, but I don’t, I don’t want to push. Just, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” His voice trembled. “If you d-don’t feel that way about me, that’s fine, really.”

“No!” The word burst out of him before he had a chance to stop it. He clapped a hand to his mouth, then lowered it, his face flaming. He could see the hurt and anxiety in every line of ‘Lendel’s posture and he hated it. “I like you. I just–” His eyes were burning again, and there was a painful lump in his throat, blocking words. The world blurred, and he turned his head away and looked down.

He heard more than saw ‘Lendel take a step towards him, then stop. “Van, I don’t…” Silence.

He blinked hard, swiped at his eyes. ‘Lendel had seen him sobbing like a baby, there wasn’t any point in being embarrassed now. “I’m sorry,” he forced out.

“Don’t be.” ‘Lendel shuffled his feet again. “Just tell me what you want?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t think he had ever felt so confused or helpless.

“Do you want me to go? If you need time to think…”

“No!” Again, the word was out before he could think about it. He cupped his hands over his face, trying to block out everything for a moment. He wanted ‘Lendel’s arms around him, craved the feeling of safety, and part of him didn’t care whether it was real or what it meant.

The silence stretched out, like yarn pulled taut.

He heard ‘Lendel clear his throat. “Um. Why don’t… Dammit. Van, I like you. I want – it doesn’t matter, but I want to be around you. Even if we don’t do anything. Is that okay with you? You, um, I don’t mind if you don’t want me to touch you yet. You don’t even have to talk to me, if you don’t want. I just… I want to be in the same room as you, okay? Or sit on the same log, whatever. Is that alright?”

He managed to nod, jerkily. His heart was hammering again and it was hard to breathe. After taking a deep breath, he uncovered his face and forced out a weak smile. “T-thank you.” He didn’t even what he was thanking the other boy for. For being there? For existing?

‘Lendel nodded, and carefully picked his way over to a nearby stump. He sat down. Licked his lips, nervously, and just that sent a tingle through Vanyel’s chest. _I want those lips kissing me_.

He looked away, trying to cover his confusion, and found his own log to sit on, a good five paces away.

‘Lendel’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath; he seemed to steel himself. “Um. Van, if, if you do decide you want to, um, keeping seeing each other – Savil wants to talk to us.”

He found himself on his feet with no memory of standing up. He was dizzy. “Savil? She knows? You, you told her?” There was a sharp pain in his chest. Gods, he was such a fool. _I trusted him._

‘Lendel jumped to his feet as well, took two steps towards him, stopped. He let his hands fall to his sides. “Van…” He stared down at his hands. “She’s not – we can trust her, okay? I can’t hide things from her anyway. Are you thinking she’ll tell your father? She would never do anything like that, really. Really and truly.”

He was shaking. “I can’t believe you told her.”

‘Lendel hung his head. “I’m sorry, all right? I– I should’ve talked to you first. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t know.”

He bit his lip until he tasted blood. “How do you know she won’t tell my father?” he said finally. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Van!” ‘Lendel scrubbed at his face with both hands. “She doesn’t really know you, I mean, when was the last time you said more than five words to her?”

Not since he’d arrived, probably. She didn’t have time for him, she’d said as much, and so he had tried his best to stay out of her way.

‘Lendel shrugged. “I don’t know your father, but I don’t think Savil is much like him. She’s not as stern as she likes to come across, really.” Something softened in his face. “She – she’s been like a mother to me.”

He couldn’t think of a response, so he said nothing. He wanted ‘Lendel’s touch so badly that it ached. _What’s wrong with me_ , he thought again.

 _“_ Who else knows?” he said finally.

‘Lendel looked up. “Um. Mardic and Donni, I guess.” He winced. “I, um, I talked to Mardic before I came here. I was worried I’d done something to hurt you. Um. Do you mind? I realize you might not’ve wanted–”

“It’s okay.” He wasn’t sure if it was okay; there was a singing tension in his chest.

The other boy tugged at his hair. “I– Gah. Van, I’ve handled this so badly. I’m really sorry.”

Unexpectedly, Vanyel felt tears sprouting in his eyes again. He ducked his head, trying to hide it, damn it, he wasn’t a child to cry at the least provocation! The cool shade of the grove suddenly felt too close and hot. He wanted to hide under a rock – he wanted to run away as fast as he could – he wanted ‘Lendel to push him down onto the dead leaves and kiss him again. A sob escaped before he could bite it down.

“Gods, Van, I…” ‘Lendel’s voice trailed off.

There was a long silence.

Vanyel dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Took a deep breath. “‘Lendel, I…” It felt almost impossible to say out loud, but he didn’t think ‘Lendel was going to do _anything_ now unless he asked for it. “Can you hold me?” He had to force the words out.

“Oh!” ‘Lendel jumped up, and was halfway to the log when he stopped. “Are you sure? If it’s just because you think I want–”

“Please.” He had to look away again, the other boy’s gaze was like a weight pressing down on his skin.

Very carefully, ‘Lendel sat down on the log next to him, scooted closer, and laid his arm over his shoulder. Vanyel felt a knot of tension in his neck unwind and drain away. Not all of it, by any means, but he sighed and leaned his head against his shoulder, feeling the heat of the other boy’s body even through his tunic. He could have stayed there forever.


	10. Chapter Nine

It wasn’t until that evening that Savil stood outside the door to the suite, steeling herself for the conversation to come. She had been worrying about Tylendel all day, even if she kept trying to put it out of her mind and remind herself that he was nearly an adult now and could take care of himself, and the anxiety had redoubled a candlemark ago when he Mindspoke her. He had sounded confused and agitated, but apparently Vanyel wanted to keep seeing him. Which wasn’t the outcome she’d been hoping for, but there was no help for it.

She let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, knocked cautiously on the outer door to the suite before opening it. With her shields relaxed a little, she could sense the minds inside, and knew both boys were in the main room, and Mardic and Donni had gone to their own rooms. Tylendel had to know she was out here, but she figured it was polite to give Vanyel the warning.

They were both sitting at the table, and Vanyel was midway through shrugging her student’s arm off his shoulder when she stepped through the door. He scooted his chair a few inches away from ‘Lendel and looked up without quite meeting her eyes, and something changed in the way he held his body, but she couldn’t tell what it meant.

She did something that she didn’t often do anymore. _:Kellan, help me – what’s going on with him?:_

She felt a little tickle in her mind as her Companion looked through her eyes. _:He’s a tricky one, love. He doesn’t let much slip. Look at his shoulders, though, and the way he holds his neck. I would wager that he’s nervous, even scared:_

_:Of me? Why?:_

There was a deep chuckle in her head, reminiscent of chestnuts roasting and popping. _:Plenty of people are. You’re very powerful and very competent, and that scares people. But Vanyel in particular... First of all, you’re an adult, and a relative, and I dare say that doesn’t make him feel any safer around you. You know how your brother is with him. He’s probably wound himself up completely worrying how you’ll respond to this. And you’re not smiling, because you never do unless you’re doing it on purpose. It would help if you smiled:_

She managed a smile, and took herself to sit down across from them, she knew it was better to speak with them with her head level with theirs.

 _:You’re tense as a harpstring, love, and Vanyel can pick that up just fine. Relax:_ Kellan sent a wave of peace and wellbeing through her, which would have left her unsteady on her feet if she had still been standing, and then retreated from the forefront of her mind.

In the past, Kellan had helped her with this sort of thing a great deal, sharing her eyes, providing a running interpretation of the mysterious messages that people seemed to be constantly sending with their faces and bodies, even taking over the movement of her eyes and showing her where to look. She could never have handled being on the Council without his help – or taking on students, for that matter. You couldn’t rely on younglings to have emotions that made any sense, or to talk about them clearly. But he didn’t like to help her any more than absolutely necessary, and he sometimes refused even when she asked. He must have thought this was important.

“So,” she said, more cheerfully than she felt. Tylendel looked like he was doing his best not to wriggle around with sheer happiness. “I see you’ve found that you both like each other. This is going to be a little complicated, of course. It sounds like you’ve already considered the problem of Vanyel’s father.”

‘Lendel nodded, but Vanyel just looked confused. Right – he probably didn’t know that they both had the Gift of Mindspeech and had already talked. She made herself look directly into his eyes and smile warmly. “Vanyel, Tylendel and I had a little conference by Mindspeech earlier tonight, so I know what you discussed.”

Vanyel looked up sharply, and his shoulders rose to around his ears, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. “We’re going to keep it a secret,” he said dully, not meeting her eyes.

She went on. “Good. Vanyel, once you turn eighteen–” if this thing of theirs lasted that long, “–you’ll be your own man, and the worst your father can do is disown you, so it’ll be up to you. But until then, he can do a lot worse. I’d rather avoid that mess. You won’t have to hide anything inside these four walls. Outside, though–”

“Nothing changes.” Vanyel said it – his voice was a little shaky, but he didn’t sound sullen. “I think we can manage it, especially if we make an effort to avoid each other in public.”

“I had a thought,” ‘Lendel jumped in. “If we could pretend to be a bit rude to each other, maybe even engineer a fight, that could deflect suspicion.”

“That is a thought.” Savil turned it over in her mind. “Um. It would distract from what’s really going on, but it would also draw attention, make you more conspicuous.” She frowned, trying to think through all the ramifications. “If you did fight... I’m afraid Tylendel has some enemies, personal and political. I’d rather they didn’t have any reason to pay attention to you, Vanyel.”

Tylendel’s smile had faded. Vanyel looked over at him, hesitantly, then back at Savil.

“Enemies. Because he’s _shay’a’chern,_ I guess? That would be the personal. And political... Is that because of the feud?”

He was quicker than she had expected, she thought. “With the Lesharas, yes. I happen to have heard a rumour that Evan Leshara is poking around Haven trying to marshal up support – I know!” She held up a hand as Tylendel leaned forward, his eyes flashing angrily. “He’s a vile man, I think so too, and he’s telling his side of the story left right and centre. Well, he can cement his reputation as a dishonest little schemer all he wants. Tylendel, you are a Herald in training and your reputation affects all of us. So we’re going to be good little citizens, and I’ll go on reporting everything I hear to Jaysen.” She looked over at Vanyel again. “Jaysen is the Seneschal’s Herald, and he happens to be an old and dear friend of mine.”

Tylendel snickered, which she didn’t deign with a response. She and Jaysen were friends and colleagues first and foremost, and it was none of anyone’s business if they occasionally shared a bed as well. She ought to have a talk with the boy at some point, remind him what was and wasn’t appropriate given that he was her student.

“Well, then, I think we have enough to go on for now.” She stood up. “Please be careful, both of you.”

 

* * *

 

It was the next day, and Vanyel was taking dinner with court. He was distracted, but doing his best to focus on the conversation, play the game right. ‘Lendel had stayed in his room again the night before, though they hadn’t done anything more than cuddle – he had wanted to, but he hadn’t wanted to _ask_ for it. They had talked for hours, but mostly about inconsequential topics, both of them steering away from anything fraught.

“–About the new Bard?” someone was saying.

Vanyel flinched, jerked back into the conversation as the word ‘Bard’ sent a piercing pain through his chest. “Sorry, what was that?” He smiled at the young lady across from him, who had been speaking. He couldn’t even remember her name at the moment. “I am afraid I was distracted by your lovely gown.”

It was a pretty gown, but the face above it couldn’t hold a candle to ‘Lendel. The girl coloured and bobbed her head. “There’s a new Bard at Court, did you hear?”

He shook his head, smiled crookedly, racked his brain for a change of topic and failed to think of anything. “You’ll have to tell me, my sweet.”

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he looked up, expecting one of his Court acquaintances; he couldn’t quite call any of them friends; and barely bit back a squeak as his eyes met ‘Lendel’s.

The other boy wasn’t smiling; in fact, he wore almost a deliberate sneer; but his eyes sparkled above it. “Your aunt says not to stay out too late,” he said, gruffly, but the corners of his lips were twitching. He lifted his hand away, but continued to look into Vanyel’s eyes just a moment too long before he turned and marched away.

The young lady opposite him leaned forwards. “Ooh, who was that?” She looked at the girl next to him, giggled. “He’s handsome, don’t you think?”

The other girl – Lavi, that was her name – shook her head, her nose wrinkling. “Don’t bother. You haven’t got a chance with him.”

Delicately plucked eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

The boy sitting beside Vanyel, who had been talking to his other friend, turned back to the group and elbowed him. “Van, do you know him?”

Vanyel shrugged as casually as he could. “Not really. Um, he’s my aunt’s student.”

The second girl giggled, not nicely. “Did you know?”

“Um, know what?” He thought he had a good idea of what, unfortunately. The bottom seemed to have fallen out of his stomach, and he fought to stay in control of his face.

“That he’s a _pervert_.” More laughter, around the table. “He, he likes _boys._ Can you imagine? What a waste, he is awfully handsome.”

The first girl sighed. “I think I’d turn into a boy for him!”

“Aria!”

Oh, so that was her name. Vanyel forced himself to chuckle, though he thought it sounded very strained.

Lavi smirked. “Oh, look, we’ve managed to shock Van – he’s blushing! You really didn’t know?”

He shook his head helplessly, wishing beyond anything for a change of topic. “Um. So what about that Bard?”

 

* * *

 

He left Court as soon as he thought he could do it without suspicion; he hadn’t been able to force down another bite after that conversation, his stomach was still roiling. Entering the suite, he slammed the door behind him harder than he meant to.

‘Lendel was on the sofa, clearly waiting for him, and his face lit up. “Van! I thought you’d be home later! …What’s wrong?”

His eyes were stinging again, damn it. “‘Lendel, please, just… Please don’t _ever_ come up to me like that! What if they’d guessed? What if they could _tell_?” Certainly they had been able to tell he was flustered, gods help him if they ever guessed the reason.

“But that’s the fun of it! Oh, Van, they’ll never guess. Someone as prim and proper as you? It would never even occur to them!”

The room felt too small and hot again. “‘Lendel, please.” His voice came out sharper than he intended, almost a whine.

A hesitation, then the other boy stood up. “I – You’re really upset? Van, I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny. I– I keep doing everything wrong, damn it!”

He looked away. “T-they called you a pervert!”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Didn’t he understand? _If you’re a pervert, then so am I!_

‘Lendel reached out, then let his hand fall without touching him. “Van, you– you can’t let it get to you. People will say the worst things, you, you just have to ignore it and remember they’re idiots.”

 _It’s not that easy_. Maybe it was that easy for ‘Lendel, maybe he was just that confident in himself, not a frightened coward like Vanyel.

‘Lendel squared his shoulders. “But anyway. I’m sorry and I won’t do it again. Really.” Hesitation. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

No, just terrified. But Vanyel nodded, and he took ‘Lendel’s outstretched hand and let himself be led over to the fire, where the trainee threw on another log.

He started to swing his arm over Vanyel’s shoulder, then stopped. “Um, Van, is it okay if I hold you?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, managed a shaky smile. “You don’t have to ask every time.”

 

They were still there when Mardic and Donni got home. Vanyel, startled by the sound of the door opening, turned his head so fast that his neck twinged. This time ‘Lendel pulled his arm away first.

“It’s just us,” Mardic said, removing his cloak and hanging it up. The nights were getting cool now.

Donni, balanced on one foot to remove her boot, dimpled at them. “Aren’t they so cute?”

Vanyel felt the blood rush to his face, and tried to turn away. Somehow he ended up with his face in ‘Lendel’s shoulder.

“Even cuter!” Donni squealed.

“Stop it, not funny.” ‘Lendel’s voice was even, but there was annoyance under it. “Van, it’s okay. I had my shields open so I could tell if anyone else was coming. No one’s going to catch us. Except these idiots.”

He still really, really didn’t want to be in the same room as Donni right now. “Can we go to my room?” he whispered into ‘Lendel’s tunic.

“Of course.” They stood up together, and he reached out to take ‘Lendel’s hand as they walked towards the hallway. ‘Lendel looked up, surprise and pleasure lighting up his face, and Vanyel smiled shyly at him and squeezed his fingers a little.

They sat down together on the side of his bed, fingers still entwined. Vanyel looked down at his bare feet. _I want him to kiss me, damn it, but I’m too much of a coward to ask and he won’t do it otherwise._ ‘Lendel had been anxious and very, very careful with him ever since that first morning. On some level he appreciated it; it made him feel safe in a different way from the wordless, inexplicable feeling he had whenever they were close by. At the same time, it was starting to be frustrating. A part of him wished ‘Lendel would just act like he had the first night, it would be simpler.

“Van,” ‘Lendel said, serious. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? I can’t read your mind.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You could. Technically.” Tylendel was a Thoughtsenser.

“I won’t! It would be really unethical.” He squeezed Vanyel’s fingers. “Are you still upset with me, about earlier?”

“No!” He was a little alarmed that ‘Lendel might think so! “I just… Maybe I overreacted.”He felt a little silly about it, now.

‘Lendel shook his head. “I don’t– You’re probably right and I was being stupid.” He smiled crookedly. “I do that a lot. Gods, Van… I can feel when you’re upset or scared, and it’s really hard when I don’t know why or whether I did something wrong. Okay?”

That made sense. It bothered him, a little, that ‘Lendel could tell when he was upset even if he didn’t show it on his face – he hadn’t realized how much he counted on that control, that privacy. _But I can trust him, right?_ He forced a smile. “I’ll try to do better about telling you.”

‘Lendel was silent for a moment. “What are you thinking right now?” he said finally. He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and Vanyel felt his breath catch. “I can feel that you’re nervous about something.”

His cheeks grew warm again. _Damn it, I can’t hide anything._ “I…I was thinking about asking you to kiss me,” he said finally, avoiding ‘Lendel’s eyes.

“Oh!” Surprised joy. “Of course!”

 

* * *

 

 

Another day.

Vanyel was curled up on the sofa, trying to read his History book. It was midway through the afternoon and no one else was home; he was only there because his Law teacher was ill and had cancelled the class.

It was still very hard to focus. He couldn’t seem to ever stop thinking about ‘Lendel, he had been hoping it would be less distracting now but that wasn’t the case at all.

The door creaked and he looked up. “Oh. Heya, Mardic.”

“Heya, Van.” The trainee kicked off his soft boots and came over. “Back early?”

“My class was cancelled.”

“Oh, lucky you.” Mardic went for the sideboard and took a plate. He looked back over his shoulder. “I wanted to ask you. How are things with Tylendel?”

Vanyel thought that coming from anyone except Mardic, the question would have sent him running away to hide. But Mardic was… _Well, I trust him. Sort of. For some reason._

“I don’t know,” he heard himself say. “I feel like I like him too much. If that makes any sense?”

“It makes sense.” Mardic brought his plate over to the table and sat. “It feels dangerous, really liking someone. Doesn’t it? It means they can really hurt you if they want.”

That was exactly it. He nodded. “I… It’s like I keep wanting to feel safe with him. Part of me, I mean. It scares me. I know that’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so.” Mardic looked past him, eyes fixed on the feathered masks that hung on the wall. “It reminds me a bit of how I felt with Donni, you know? I trusted her with my life and I had no good reason for it, I barely knew her!” A lock of dun hair fell into his eyes, and he tossed his head, shaking it aside. “It took a while to get used to it.” He smiled, slowly, the expression completely changing his face. “But I guess that part of me was right. She was worth it.”

That was interesting. Vanyel watched him, amazed at how different he looked when he talked about Donni, with his dull brown eyes full of light.

Mardic picked at his thumbnail for a moment, then looked up. “Don’t expect you to take my word for it, but I think you can trust him. If that counts for anything. I’ve lived with him for almost three years, reckon I know him pretty well. He – well, he can be reckless and he does things without thinking, and gods he’s got a temper, but he’s a good person. He cares. And I think he likes you a lot, Van.”

Vanyel nodded, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” he said finally, it felt like he had to say something. He felt better, with Mardic’s quiet presence, more solid than he had in days. Of course ‘Lendel was a good person, fundamentally. He was going to be a Herald; he pretty much had to be.

In silence, Mardic took a bite of bread and cheese. Vanyel looked down at his own plate. He still wasn’t hungry. He’d been sleeping better than he had in years, with ‘Lendel’s warmth beside him, but he hadn’t had much appetite. Maybe because it was impossible to think about anything except ‘Lendel when they were apart. _Gods, what’s wrong with me?_

“I think I scared him,” he said finally. “I mean, by getting upset. It’s like he’s afraid to touch me now, he always _asks_.”

Mardic snorted. “Probably my fault. I told him to go slow with you.”

Oh. He tried to figure out how to feel about that. He had known Tylendel had talked to Mardic – and, well, here, he was, talking about Tylendel, technically behind his back. To his surprise, it felt alright. It was Mardic.

“Thank you,” he said.

There was a pause as Mardic ate. Finally he set down the remaining heel of bread. “Um, you don’t have to tell me or anything, if you don’t want to, but… What were you upset about?”

It took a moment to parse the question. “Oh. I think I mostly felt like a fool. I was sure Savil would find out and tell my father and, and…” He trailed off.

“And if he’s anything like _my_ father, that wouldn’t go well at all,” Mardic finished. “I’m sorry, Van. I know it’s awful when your parents are like that.” He was picking at his nail again. “You know Savil wouldn’t do that, though, right?”

“I guess.” It was what everyone kept saying, and to be honest, during their short interview she _had_ seemed, well, sympathetic. Or trying hard to be sympathetic anyway. “It always feels like she’s annoyed that I exist. Um, I thought maybe she’d be glad of an excuse to be rid of me.”

Mardic laughed. “Sorry! I know it’s not funny. But she wouldn’t do that. She’s more ethical than that, gods, she’s a Herald! Even if she was annoyed by you, she wouldn’t do something to hurt you on purpose. Besides, can you imagine how upset ‘Lendel would be if that happened? And Savil’s very close with him.”

Mardic’s laughter helped, somehow – he didn’t just think it was unlikely that Savil would betray him, he thought the idea ridiculous. Vanyel found himself laughing as well, to his surprise.

“That’s better.” Mardic patted his shoulder, then stood up. “I need to study. Um. I’m always here if you need to talk about anything, okay?”

 

* * *

 

It was late when Savil came in, and they were all sitting in the living room. Vanyel heard the door, but didn’t even bother to open his eyes; he was sitting at ‘Lendel’s feet, the other boy had found a way of scratching his head that made him want to melt, and he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if he’d wanted to. Donni was sketching something on the back of her homework, she liked to draw for fun, and talking to Mardic about concert magic. Apparently their lesson today hadn’t gone well. He couldn’t follow it any better than he’d been able to follow the earlier conversation about weather-magic.

“Meeting went badly, then?” he heard ‘Lendel say.

“Oh, don’t even ask.” He heard the scrape of leather as she removed her boots, and from the table, the scratch of chair legs and footsteps, then liquid being poured.

“Thank you, Mardic.” Savil’s voice had softened, and now she sounded more tired than irritated. “I really needed that.”

“Who was being an idiot this time?” Donni said brightly.

A sigh. Vanyel heard a creaking sound as Savil settled into her overstuffed chair. “Lord Kethar and Lord Severan are locking horns again.”

“Gods, what’s their problem now?”

“Something about road tolls and who’s responsible for the repairs on that section. And Guard assignments.” She made a disgusted sound. “It’s not really about that, of course, they’ll use any excuse to go at each other.” A brief pause. “Did Van just fall asleep like that?”

Vanyel jerked his head up. “No. M’awake, was listening.”

Savil snorted. But she actually made eye contact with him, for a moment, and if she wasn’t quite smiling, she wasn’t frowning either.

“Hey, Van?” It was Mardic who spoke. “You haven’t played for us in a while.”

Vanyel winced and turned his head away. “I’m rubbish.”

“Are you _serious?”_ ’Lendel broke in. “You’re very good. Bard Breda herself said you were very good.”

Vanyel said nothing, just let his forehead fall against ‘Lendel’s thigh, his hair falling to hide his face. His eyes were prickling again, and he didn’t think he would be able to speak without starting to cry. _I’m not a Bard, I can’t ever be a Bard, what’s the point?_

“I quite liked listening to you play,” Savil said, with surprising gentleness. “I missed it, actually.”

Was she mocking him? He lifted his head and turned to look at her. Her eyes were fixed on the cup of wine she held loosely in one hand, and her face was impossible to read. Mardic caught his gaze, though, and smiled encouragingly.

He took a deep breath. _Don’t let fear control you_ , he thought. “…All right. I could play a little,” he said finally. “Um, I’ll go get my lute.”

 

It felt surprisingly good, playing for the others. He could tell that Savil was making an effort to show that she was enjoying the music, but he didn’t think that it was actually faked, she just didn’t usually show her emotions much. At Mardic’s insistence, he sang four pieces from the Windrider Cycle, and then he and Donni sang the duet for ‘Sun and Shadow.’ ‘Lendel watched him with a smug, proprietary expression, and eventually it got to be too distracting.

He set the lute down in his lap. “Sorry, that’s all my fingers can take for tonight.” It was almost true; he hadn’t played in weeks and his fingertips were sore under softened calluses. His bad hand barely ached at all, though; he had to admit that weapons practice had improved his strength and dexterity, especially the dagger-work that Lord Oden had added.

Savil stood up, massaging her lower back with both hands. “It’s late, you boys should go to bed.”

‘Lendel caught his eye with an exaggerated leer, which startled a laugh out of him. To his surprise, Savil actually blushed. “To sleep!” she muttered.

“Oh, we will.” ‘Lendel stood up and reached for his hand. “C’mon, Van.”

He carried his lute back to their room and sat down on the side of his bed to de-tune the strings. ‘Lendel closed the door behind them and came to sit next to him.

He set the lute down in its stand and looked over, forcing himself to meet the other boy’s eyes head-on. Mardic had refilled his cup twice, ‘for his throat’, and even with watered wine, his head felt pleasantly light. And he felt bolder than usual. “You know,” he said, “I’m not actually sleepy yet.”

‘Lendel raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just waited.

He took a deep breath. “I. Um. I liked some of the stuff. That we did. Um. The first night.” The blood rushed to his face. _Damn it, I must look like such a naive child._

“Are you sure?” ‘Lendel looked intently at him. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel rushed or anything.”

He looked away. “I…kind of feel the opposite of rushed.” This was so horribly awkward. His cheeks were flaming.

‘Lendel just smiled. “Mardic said I should reward you when you actually communicate, so…” He reached for him.

Vanyel looked down at his hands. “Just don’t ruin any of my clothes. Um. You tore two buttons off my favourite tunic.”

‘Lendel laughed, delighted. “Peacock. Come here.” 

 

 

 

 

> Dear Mother
> 
> I hope that my letter finds you well. I apologize for not writing sooner; I have been very busy settling in. Savil has me in three different classes, and that in additions to my weapons training! However, I have been learning a great deal, and I think that I will be very happy here. I have learned several new songs, which I would be eager to play for you when I see you again. I love you and I think of you often. By my hand, Vanyel Ashkevron
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Dear Lissa
> 
> I hope that you are still finding your training with Lord Corey enjoyable and useful. I would love to hear more about your lessons. What sorts of academic classes does he have you taking? I am taking a class in Law now, and it seems like the sort of thing the Guard would have to know.
> 
> My own training is going well, I think. Besides, Savil has warmed to me considerably, and I have made some very good friends. Savi’s students are so much more interesting than anyone I’ve ever met, and so are some of my classmates. I can actually have conversations about interesting things I learned in lessons. And Savil has given me permission to go to the Palace library and read any books I like, which I wish I had more time to do!
> 
> Some of them, including Savil, I think you would get along with very well, if you were able to schedule a visit. In any case, I miss you, but I am very happy here. By my hand, Vanyel Ashkevron
> 
>  

 

> To my Dearest Son Vanyel,
> 
> I am Very Glad that you are Well. I have been Very Worried as Savil is an Old Biddy who I Feared would be Cruel to you, and I have had Dark and Fell Dreams ever since you left. You say you are Very Busy. Please tell me if she is being Too Hard on you and I will Speak to Your Father.
> 
> I have been Visited by a Great Deal of Grief. My maid Melenna is with child, and by your Brother Mekeal! So she has Told me, and so He Admits. I am Distraught and I do not Know what to Do. Your Father is no help, as he thinks it is All Very Amusing and will give me No Sympathy.
> 
> I Miss my Favourite Son and I Do Not Know how I will Survive if you are Gone for Two More Years. I had Thought to Speak to your Father and bring you Home Sooner, but if you are Very Happy I would not wish to Take that Away. I love you Very Much. By my hand, Treesa Ashkevron
> 
>  

 

“Van, I can’t believe your mother. Pink paper? And purple ink? And those fancy capital letters with flourishes are hurting my eyes...”

“Oh, Mother always writes like that. She won’t use any other paper even though it costs a fortune. And this is a letter to someone she’s on good terms with. You should see it when she’s upset. She gets all formal and capitalizes _everything_. And cries over the paper.”

“How old is this brother of yours? He must be younger than you are, since you’re the heir.”

“Oh, Meke? He’s thirteen – oh, he must be fourteen now, his name day is before mine. Meke’s all right, I suppose. He’s a bit of a fathead and he likes to play practical jokes on the servants, but I think he’ll grow out of that. Honestly, he’d make a better Lord Holder than me.”

 

 

> Dear Vanyel,
> 
> I am so glad to hear that things are going well! My training is still going well and I think that Lord Corey is very pleased with my progress; he’s as good as offered me a place as an officer in the Guard! I’m not studying Law yet, but there is a training program for new officers and I will study it then. Right now I am mostly learning military tactics, as this is Lord Corey’s area. I would like to hear about what you are learning, though!
> 
> I would love to visit, and I think it may be possible. Lord Corey has been talking about making a trip with his students to tour the neighbouring lands and holdings, and he had mentioned he might take me to Court to be presented before I take my place in the Guard. I might be able to persuade him to combine those trips and do it earlier. I will tell you immediately of course if there is any news on this front,
> 
> All my love, Liss

 

“Your sister sounds amazing, Van! She must be exactly like Savil was at that age.”

“Aside from being a Herald-Mage? Yeah, I suppose so. She certainly knows what she wants, and she goes and gets it. She was the only one in the Keep who wasn’t afraid to stand up to Father.”

“That’s too bad. I think – Savil thinks, and I agree – that it’s important for any leader to have someone who can tell him when he’s being an idiot.”

“No one ever tells Father’s he’s being an idiot.”

“They really should, it sounds like. He wasn’t very good to you, was he?”

“I…I don’t know. He, he always said he wanted me to be a man. He thinks I’m a coward.”

“Well, there you go, then. He must be an idiot to think that.”

 

* * *

 

“Heya, Van.”

Vanyel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book in his lap. It was a book on Law, but not the one his teacher used; he had finally found time to go to the Palace library, which was just as incredible as he could have hoped – there must have been thousands of books there! And they had let him just take this one home! The clerk who had signed it out to him said it had some kind of preservative magic on it; it had been copied out by a scribe nearly seventy years ago, according to the date in the front, and the ink was barely faded. This book was a lot more interesting than the class textbook, too.

He must have been deep enough in concentration to miss the footsteps and the door opening. “‘Lendel! You’re back early.” It was about two candlemarks before sunset; he usually had this time to himself, and spent it studying, or more often reading for pleasure now that he was closer to caught up in his classes.

The other boy shrugged. He held up one hand; his forearm was wrapped in cloth. “Sprained my wrist in weapons training. Kayla sent me back early.”

Vanyel threw the book down and jumped up. “Oh! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! Don’t panic. Savil sent me to her friend Healer Andrel and he set me right in about five seconds. I just can’t move it much for a few days.”

“If you’re sure.” He sighed, and slipped into the circle of ‘Lendel’s arms, sighing as unnoticed tension left his spine. He still didn’t understand why everything felt so _okay_ when they were together. More and more these days, walking into their room felt like letting go of a great weight, being able to relax because he was finally somewhere safe.

He tucked the crown of his head under ‘Lendel’s chin, the height difference meant it fit perfectly.

They stood there for a long moment.

“Van, I wanted to talk to you.” The breath of ‘Lendel’s words tickled his hair.

He lifted his head. “About what?” He let himself be guided over to the side of the bed, and they sat.

“About us, if that’s okay.”

Oh. His breath caught a little, but he made himself stay calm. Was ‘Lendel losing interest? _I have so little to offer him, I’m not a Herald-trainee, not a mage…_ Well, if it had to happen, better that it happened sooner, he thought dully. Get the pain out of the way. Move on.

“Van, I–” He stopped, caught his breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Vanyel. I haven’t really said this, I didn’t want to scare you, but I…I really like you.” He wasn’t used to seeing ‘Lendel look nervous. “I. Um. I think I love you.”

Oh. For a moment his heart seemed to stop. The room felt too hot and small again. He couldn’t breathe. _Gods, what am I supposed to say?_

He almost heard Lissa’s soft whisper in his ear. _You’re generally supposed to say ‘I love you’ back. I mean, if it’s true._

Was it true? Well, if love meant wanting to look at someone’s face forever, to lie in their arms until the sun went out, to sing a thousand songs, write a thousand songs, just to express it… He stared down at the coverlet. “I think I love you too,” he murmured.

“Oh!” Then ‘Lendel cut him off by kissing him. He lost track of everything for a moment, and then they were tumbling sideways onto the bed.

‘Lendel pulled back. “Ow. Stupid wrist.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.” And their lips met again.

Some time later they came up for air. He found himself on his back, wrists pinned to the mattress, the other boy’s face right above his.

“How would you feel if I moved my things into this room?” ‘Lendel said. “Savil’s started making snide comments that she might as well have a spare room again if I’m going to sleep here every night anyway.”

He tried to catch his breath. “I would like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was setting, painting a stripe of the wall with red-gold light. He lay in the curve of Tylendel’s arm and tried to decide if he was thirsty enough to get up and fetch some wine from the main room. He would have to put clothes on for it, which seemed like too much effort. He really ought to leave for Court soon, if he wanted to take dinner there – but he didn’t want to. He didn’t ever want this moment to end – he wanted to preserve it in amber and hold onto it forever.

Gods. Sometimes it was hard to believe this was real. If he’d tried to tell his past self of just two months ago, back at Forst Reach, what was about to happen in his life... Well, he definitely wouldn’t have believed it.

The light was fading. He saw ‘Lendel raise one hand, almost absentmindedly, and make an odd gesture. All the candles in the room flared to life. He twitched, even though it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.

‘Lendel looked over at him. “You know, it’s three times as much work to do it with magic as just lighting them the normal way. Sometimes it’s worth it not to have to get up.” He scooted a little onto his side, reached over, and ran his hands through a lock of Vanyel’s hair. “What are you thinking about, peacock? You’re making that thinking face again.”

“About you, obviously.” That made ‘Lendel blush, attractively, which was what he’d wanted. “Um. Did you always want to be a Herald?”

That seemed to startle him. “I– Hmm. I mean, I don’t think I thought about it all that much. I mean, it didn’t really seem like the sort of thing that happened to ordinary people. And once I got my Gifts... Well, I really thought I was cursed. But, I mean, if you’d asked me at any point if I’d want to be a Herald if I could... Well, of course I’d have said yes, who would say no?”

 _I would_ , Vanyel thought. He’d read enough books about or by Heralds to have a pretty good sense of what it would involve: duty, an oath to the Queen, a hard and dangerous life. Heralds had lives that made good songs, but not lives that a reasonable person would want to live. Right?

“So you were happy that you were going to be a Herald, when Gala Chose you?” he said.

“Yes! It was the best day of my life, Van. Well, at least until I met you. I– I mean, when she walked up to me and I looked into her eyes, and – and I knew I wasn’t ever going to be be alone. And she told me my powers were Gifts, that I wasn’t cursed, that – that I was special, that I could help people. Protect Valdemar. That, that I could do something with my life. Something that would matter. Make a difference in the world. You know?”

His eyes were shining. He meant it, Vanyel thought, trying to understand. “You don’t mind that it’s going to be dangerous?”

Tylendel shook his head, laughing. “No. Gala and I make a good team. We can look out for ourselves. Savil thinks I’ll be a really powerful mage when I’m fully trained, as powerful as her, plus I’ve got Fetching as well. Did I ever show you this?” He put out his hand, took a deep breath and closed his eyes and scrunched up his face...and an apple appeared in his hand, presumably taken from the bowl in the other room. He let out his breath in a gust and handed the apple to Vanyel.

“That’s... Wow!” He took it.

“Savil would tell me not to show off and waste energy. Says you should always save your power for when you really need it.”

Vanyel was still looking at the apple. “Um. Is it safe to eat?”

“Of course! Why would I get you an apple that wasn’t safe to eat?”

He took a bite. It tasted like a normal apple. He chewed, swallowed. “‘Lendel, I, um… Is it going to work out? For us to be together, I mean? With you being a Herald, when I’m not…”

“I don’t see why not.”

“But–” He stopped, tried to think through what was bothering him. “Will we have to keep it a secret forever?” It was one thing now, when they lived together anyway, but what would happen once Tylendel got his Whites and went out on circuit? “My father will disown me for sure if he finds out.”

“It’s up to you, I guess.” ‘Lendel looked over at him. “I mean – I hate having to keep you a secret. I want to tell everyone how amazing you are. But I’m not the one to decide, I don’t think. My parents are dead.” His voice was casual, but his face tightened for a moment. “They wouldn’t approve if they knew, but it’s not like they ever will, is it?”

“What about the Heralds?”

He shrugged. “Heralds stand by each other. That’s practically a law. No one would – I mean, there are people who’d disapprove for sure, but they wouldn’t say anything. And it’s not like we have to decide now. Like Savil said. Once you’re of age, the worst your father can do is disown you.”

He closed his eyes and tried to think about that. It would hurt – of course it would hurt. But less now, he thought. It wasn’t like he had ever wanted to inherit the holding. All he’d ever wanted was Withen’s approval, which was impossible anyway.

And he had something better now, didn’t he? The thought felt unconvincing, but he pushed the doubt away.

“I might not mind that so much,” he murmured.

 

* * *

 

Another day:

“Have you ever thought about how _weird_ Valdemaran law is?” Vanyel said.

“Huh?” Mardic was shovelling food into his mouth with one hand and holding a sheaf of notes in the other as he reread them. It was lunchtime and they were the only two back in the suite.

Vanyel set the textbook down on his knee. “Did you notice we’ve got two whole legal systems, just about?”

“How do you mean?”

He wasn’t sure how to explain it – he had been trying to put his finger on exactly what was bothering him for a while. “Well...there’s the written law code, right? And there’s the local government – I mean, noble landholders and town mayors and magistrates and the like – who’re supposed to follow it, right? And every so often the Queen and Council will meet and set new laws, if something important comes up and it isn’t covered?”

“Well, yes?” Mardic had set his notes down and was looking over his shoulder, eyes bright.

Vanyel shrugged helplessly. “I mean, that’s complete, right – that would _work_ , just by itself?” It was something he didn’t feel entirely comfortable talking about, but Mardic was nearly impossible to offend. “But...then there are Heralds, right? Heralds on circuit pass through every place in the Kingdom regularly, at least in theory, and...I mean, it’s almost like Heralds aren’t part of the same system at all! It’s a whole other layer. People who don’t like what the written law as practiced in their town has to say, they can wait for the next Herald and bring up their grievance and get a new judgement.”

Mardic had turned to sit backwards on his chair, arms folded across the back, chin on his hands. “S’not completely true. There are cases where they’ll wait for the next Herald to pass through, or even request a Herald sooner. Murder cases and stuff. Anything where you need a Truth Spell, obviously, or other Gifts.”

“But…” How to say this? “Most countries don’t have Heralds at all, and they do just fine.”

“Huh. Guess the first King Valdemar came from somewhere with no Heralds. Would’ve started with the laws they had there.” 

Vanyel felt his smile broaden. Oh, to have people around who actually wanted to have conversations about things! Even Lissa would’ve been looking blank around now. He remembered sitting in her room a long time ago: _why are there Companions, Liss? I don’t know, Van, they just are!_

It made sense, and it was what he had been thinking. “I figure you’re right, Mardic. Though they must’ve stripped out a lot of things. I mean, ‘there is no one true way’ and all that. You should see Karsite written law, it’s twenty times longer...”

Mardic stared at him. “Karsite law?”

Vanyel shrugged. “My grandfather collected a lot of books.” And Father wouldn’t have have been at all happy knowing the contents of some he’d read. Father, who could just barely read and write at all; how he had managed a career in the Guard before marrying, Vanyel had no idea. Scribes and secretaries, probably.

There was still the unanswered question. “Why Heralds, though? I mean, I know the answer from the old ballads...” He couldn’t help singing. “I found a land and I built a home where my people can be free / I have been shown and I understand that they’ll live in dignity / With Companions to guide them, they need not succumb to lies / Now I can rest my sword knowing that Valdemar will not die.” He shrugged. “But that’s not really an answer, is it? It’s just the what, not the why.”

The door banged open. “What’s the what?” Donni shrugged off her light cloak and hung it on the peg by the door.

Mardic grinned at her. “We’re talking about the law.”

“Boring.” She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think it’s boring,” Mardic shot back. “You know the stories about King Valdemar. Why were Companions the answer to making Valdemar work?”

She frowned. “I thought it was mostly about training people with Gifts.”

Vanyel leaned forwards. “You could just have a school, though, right? Like the Bardic or Healers Collegia.” He didn’t know much about the details of how the Heraldic Gifts were used in Valdemar, outside of war. There was the Truth Spell, of course, and some way of sending messages via long-distance Mindspeech; Father had used it once to convey details about some bandits his armsmen had caught. And a Herald-Mage had apparently paved the road from Forst Reach all the way down to Exile’s Road, fifty-some years ago. It was clearly relevant, that most Heralds had Gifts, but somehow it didn’t seem like the heart of the matter.

“Then it’s how Valdemar stays honest,” Donni said. “Right? It’s what protects us from one bad king or queen ruining the country. As long as the monarch has to be a Herald, we know they’ll be a decent person, and we can’t have a madman ruin everything. Like happens in other countries.” Her words sounded a little rote, though, like she was quoting something from a book she’d read.

Vanyel frowned. “I guess... Rethwellan has the same thing, sort of, with that magic sword that chooses the King. And Hardorn has some kind of ceremony with magic, the book I read didn’t really say what it was, just that it’s supposed to prevent the ruler from doing anything bad for the country.” Donni was staring at him. “But why isn’t there just one, then? One Companion who just Chose the monarchs, like the Grove-Born who always chooses the King or Queen’s Own. Why so many?”

Mardic shrugged. “Guess the gods were feeling generous?”

Donni was still blinking at him, standing by the sideboard with a half-filled plate in her hand. “Um. I think you might’ve read even more books than Savil.”

Vanyel laughed. “We grew up in the same house, you know that, right? She probably read the same books I did.” The question was still unanswered. “I don’t feel like ‘the gods just wanted to’ is an answer.”

The door opened again. “The gods just wanted to what?”

Vanyel jumped up, happily. “’Lendel!” They greeted each other enthusiastically.

Mardic rolled his eyes at Donni. “Were we ever that bad?”

Donni brought her plate over to the overstuffed chair by the fire and sat down. “Probably.” She turned. “I realize it’s been three whole hours since you saw each other, but you do know someone could walk in at any moment?”

‘Lendel laughed. “Come on, I can’t sense anyone within a hundred yards.” Vanyel felt his cheeks warming, but he didn’t have much time for embarrassment – ‘Lendel picked him up, squeezing a faint squeak out of him, and carried him the few paces to the sofa.

Donni cheerfully accepted a mug of tea from Mardic. “Seriously, you’re embarrassing.” Vanyel had managed to get used to her teasing, mostly, and did his best to ignore it.

Tylendel ignored her too. “What were you talking about, just now? It sounded interesting.”

Vanyel twisted in his lap. “I was reading about Valdemaran law, and thinking about why we’ve got Heralds and Companions. I mean, I know the stories, but…”

Tylendel looked genuinely baffled. “The gods answered King Valdemar’s prayer? Obviously?”

“But...” It was an answer of a sort. “Why did the gods _care_?”

Tylendel shrugged helplessly? “Because that’s what they do? Might as well ask why the sun rises.” He looked up suddenly. “Hey, Donni? Savil’s coming. I wonder how much we could scandalize her?”

Donni grinned. “I do wonder.” She put aside her empty plate and plopped herself into Mardic’s lap; Mardic made a resigned face, but went along with it.

Vanyel squirmed. “Should we really–” He cut off as ‘Lendel kissed him, and he wasn’t _quite_ uncomfortable enough to push him away.

The door opened. There was an awkward pause. “Gah,” Savil said quietly. “You have bedrooms, you know!”

There was a peal of giggles from Donni. Vanyel freed himself from ‘Lendel’s face just in time to see his aunt sag into a chair with a hand over her face.

“We were just talking about law,” Mardic said innocently. “Van’s been asking some very interesting questions.”

‘Lendel played along, perfectly straight-faced.“I mean, I don’t think there’s much question here. The gods answered King Valdemar’s prayer for a way to keep his people safe – so we got Companions, right?”

Savil uncovered her face. “Oh, is that...” She trailed off. “Hmm. I mean, it’s kind of moot at this point – we _have_ our Companions and I dare say they’re a big part of how Valdemar has done so well.”

There was a ‘but’ there, Vanyel thought. “But there must be a reason,” he dared.

She shrugged. “Maybe. King Valdemar was a powerful mage, maybe more powerful than anyone we’ve had since, and the stories say he cast a spell as well. I’m not sure even he could’ve been powerful enough to just create the first Companions, or even summon them from somewhere else. So maybe there really was a prayer that was answered. But I’m not inclined to rely on the goodwill of the gods overmuch, you know? I’ve always felt as though, if they really had our wellbeing at heart, the world would look pretty different.” Her voice was heavy, and for a moment there was so much weariness in her face.

Vanyel looked away. _She’s right, though, isn’t she_? A sudden rush of memory, riding into Haven from Exile’s Gate, streets that reeked of sewage, filthy children in rags running up to his horse’s legs to beg for coins...

“But the gods do look out for their people,” ‘Lendel broke in. “I mean, sometimes they answer prayers! They make miracles happen!”

Savil chuckled dryly. “Boy, I’m not denying that there _are_ gods, and that sometimes they see fit to meddle. But it’s nothing to count on.” She held up her hands. “I prefer to count on my own power.”

Vanyel looked back and forth between them. _I feel like I’m missing some context._

There was a somewhat awkward silence.

“What do you think of the Valdemaran legal system, Savil?” Vanyel said finally, and briefly described his observations.

She actually smiled. “That’s a more interesting question. I mean, I think it’s always useful to look at the results, and there are two things a historian would have to say about Valdemar. We’ve had a stable and continuous rule of law for nearly eight centuries, and yet I would say the Valdemaran people have the most freedom of any country north of Ceejay. No one true way and all that. Those two things don’t normally go together. Take the Eastern Empire – very stable, but their Emperor is always a powerful mage, with the power of life and death over his subjects. I suspect the existence of us Heralds has something to do with the difference, there.”

Vanyel nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, and he wanted to chew on it some more. _Not that I’m so sure of our supposed freedom._ After all, he’d spent his whole life being told it was his birthright and duty to eventually hold the Forst Reach lands and rule over some three thousand smallholders and farmers and townspeople. No one had asked him, and certainly no one had asked them.


	11. Chapter Ten

“All right, boy, I think we can call it a day.”

Vanyel was on his rump in the practice salle, aching all over from the fall as he struggled to get his feet under him and his sword up. He sagged back gratefully as Oden lowered his own sword and took a step back.

“I overreached there, didn’t I?” he said ruefully. “And you suckered me.” He had half seen it coming, but too late to save himself when Oden had somehow managed to dodge _under_ his thrust and his momentum had carried him through to the ground.

Oden only grinned. “Which is why I am the teacher and you the pupil. You are improving, though.” He stuck out a hand, which Vanyel gratefully took. “You always had balance and reflexes like a cat. I need show you how to be clever about using them.”

The compliment warmed him through, and he found himself lowering his eyes shyly. Who would have guessed that praise, and not just humiliation, could make him blush?

“Best be off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He whistled under his breath as he set off across the Palace grounds, torn between enjoying a long hot soak at the bathhouse and hurrying back to catch ‘Lendel before his afternoon lessons.

‘Lendel. It had been nearly a month, and he still had to suppress a goofy smile when he thought of the other boy. He was trying very hard to act exactly as he always had outside of their room. It was just as hard to wear the exterior of cool politeness to cover happiness as to cover despair, he had discovered. Maybe harder – he hadn’t had the ice-dream again since that first night together, and it was next to impossible to summon the distant calm of it, not when he was so happy. He had been very motivated to hide his previous misery, but he longed to be able to shout his current feelings to the sky. It felt almost shameful to hide like this, as though he was letting the men like his father win.

 _But Father’s not the one winning this time_. Here he was, doing everything his father had ever hated and feared. He played his lute, defiantly, whenever he got the chance – and he had been secretly composing a little song for Tylendel. He was fairly sure it was terrible, but at least it gave some outlet to the soaring wordless cry of joy inside him. He had even gotten up the courage to ask Savil if he could join Breda’s class in Literature in the next session, after Harvestfest. 

Once he was of age, they would stop hiding, and Father would certainly disown him. They had talked about it, and he figured he could be a minstrel – traveling with Tylendel on circuit, earning his share of coin at inns and taverns. Most circuits were fairly safe, ‘Lendel said, and Vanyel was getting pretty good with a sword and would be able to defend himself well enough. On a Herald’s stipend, with most of the necessities of life provided by the Crown, they wouldn’t be short of money even if his father disowned him.

It wasn’t a life he would have wanted especially even a month ago, and he’d had to spend some time thinking about the idea to get used to it, but any future sounded perfect as long as ‘Lendel was in it. And he did sort of like the thought of his ‘Lendel having adventures and being hailed as a hero. He could write songs about it...

A gust of wind shook him out of his thoughts, and the sun dimmed. He looked up, and saw that the sky was quickly filling with clouds. It was going to rain, and probably soon.

And there was an odd feeling of tightness building in his chest – a little like the tension he had felt in the forest and more recently, but not quite the same. He was tempted to think it was just the storm, but the quiet voice in the back of his doubted it. Somehow he didn’t feel like it belonged to _him_. He was getting flashes of something hot and red-tinged.

When the first fat raindrops started to fall, he was still closer to Savil’s quarters than to the bathhouse. That decided him – he turned and sprinted through the grounds. He was in much better shape than he had been when he arrived, and he made it there only slightly out of breath and slightly damp.

The tightness flared as he opened the main door, and then subsided. To his surprise, he saw that Savil, Donni, and Tylendel were all there, although Mardic must have been elsewhere.And ‘Lendel was pacing back and forth in the small space, his fists clenched. His face, when he turned back, was a mask of rage.

He stumbled a little when he saw Vanyel, who took the opportunity to go to him and lay his hand on his arm. “’Lendel, what is it?” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Tylendel shrugged his hand off without saying anything, his jaw working; Vanyel flinched, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. “It’s Leshara,” he spat out finally. “He– he– I can’t believe the Council would even consider it, Savil!”

Savil was looking straight ahead, her face blank. Vanyel knew her well enough now to recognize that it wasn’t a mask, exactly. It was just what her face did when she was very distracted. “I know, _ke’chara_ , but you have to understand why they would consider it. Your brother really is very young and very inexperienced, and working through some pain that he really shouldn’t have to be dealing with while under the pressure of being Lord Holder.”

Tylendel only spun and glared at her. “He’s the rightful heir!”

Vanyel looked back and forth for a moment between the three faces; Donni, her mobile face very controlled, Savil wearing no expression, and Tylendel looking angry enough to spit tacks. Steeling himself, he jumped into the pause. “’Lendel, what exactly is going on?”

Tylendel glared into the distance for a long moment, then stomped away from him to the fire. “The Lesharas proposed a settlement,” he said flatly. “A settlement! As if you can call it that in good conscience! They– they want to take my maiden-aunt, who’s never been outside a cloister, and, and marry her to a perverted old man – he’s fifty! And then take Staven out of his position and put her in. Which would mean _him_ , because she wouldn’t stand up to him for more than a day.” He turned his face away from them and stared at the fire. “It’s an insult, that’s what it is,” Vanyel barely heard him mutter.

That didn’t seem quite right to Vanyel. He supposed it was possible it had been intended as one, but still... “At least they’re willing to settle?” he said hesitantly. “If your brother could use that to negotiate a, a more favourable agreement...”

“NO!” The worst burst from him, almost explosively, and ‘Lendel’s angry face turned on him made him want to curl up in a ball on the floor. “I, they won’t, they’ll never... You don’t understand!”

Vanyel felt the tension building and pulling tight inside him, and a moment later he felt the ground tremble a little under him. The table actually bounced up and down on the floor.

“Shut it down,” Savil said, very calmly. Tylendel didn’t move at first, but then he seemed to very deliberately drop his shoulders and unclench his fists, and the floor stopped moving. The odd tension was still there, though, and the air felt a little like it did before a thunderstorm.

There was a long silence. Vanyel’s throat felt tight; he couldn’t seem to get the image of ‘Lendel’s furious expression, directed at _him,_ out of his head.

“Listen,” Savil said finally. “I don’t trust this supposed settlement any more than you do. I think Evan Leshara is up to something. I’ll advise the Queen and the Heraldic Circle to vote against, and I’ve been working on bringing the rest of the Council over to my point of view. They might be old goats, but they’re capable of reason.”

Tylendel didn’t turn, but Vanyel could read uncertainty and confusion in the way he held his shoulders.

Savil sighed, heavily. “But...the feud has to end, can’t you see that? Before one of your families actually succeeds at bringing in a mage from outKingdom – because at that point, the feud becomes a threat to a lot more than just your two families. The neighbouring smallholders are already taking sides. _Ke’chara,_ this is getting dangerous. Can’t you see that?” She bit her lip. “I know it must feel like a betrayal to your parents, to make a compromise. But Staven has to end it. And – and if he won’t see reason, I need your help to convince him.”

Tylendel leapt up and spun around, his face twisted bitterly. “Don’t you understand? You, you can’t compromise with monsters!”

The air crackled, and the ground shook again. Vanyel flattened himself against the wall. He had never seen Tylendel lose his temper like this before, and it terrified him. It reminded him of his father, of Jervis…

Savil stood up. “My Work Room, now. Before you break anything. Donni, with me. Have Mardic meet us there if he’s available. Vanyel, stay here.”

Vanyel backed against the wall, uncertain. Donni brushed by him on his way out. “Don’t worry,” the girl whispered. “She’s just going to wear him out in a mage-duel against the three of us. She does it whenever he gets out of control like this.”

 

* * *

 

Vanyel paced anxiously around the small room until they returned, a candlemark later. Savil’s housekeeper, Margret, had been in and out, taking the leftovers of their lunch away; as usual he’d nodded politely and then ignored her, he still didn’t know how to interact with the servants here.

Mardic and Donni were half-carrying a white-faced, shaking Tylendel between them, Savil stalking just behind.

The knot of hurt and tension in him dissolved in an instant. He ran forward; Donni stepped aside to let him take ‘Lendel’s weight; and then craned over his shoulder to glare at Savil.

Savil just met his eyes steadily, her lips pursed. “Don’t look at me like that, lad. He did this to himself. I only put him through his paces to give him an outlet for some of that energy before he destroyed my quarters with it. _He_ let his temper get out of control and gave himself backlash.”

“He nearly got a levinbolt through my shields,” Donni said sullenly.

Savil’s voice was dry. “No, he didn’t. He just challenged you more than you’re used to. Which probably means I’ve been too easy on you, girl.” Her expression finally softened, and she came over to Vanyel’s side and reached out to lift ‘Lendel’s chin. He blinked dazedly at her. “Let me get a read on you.” Her eyes unfocused for a moment and seemed to look through him. “Okay, good, you haven’t done yourself any real injury. I do want you to take this as a lesson, though. Because an enemy _will_ taunt you and try to make you lose your temper, to get the upper hand. Enough of a lesson for today, though. Vanyel, Mardic, get him into bed. I’ll have Healer Andrel send over one of those really good headache potions. Van, you can skip the rest of your afternoon classes. And ‘Lendel...I think it might help to talk about it, truly.”

Vanyel nodded, and he and Mardic managed to carry Tylendel down the hall to the room with the garden door, which belonged to both of them now – ‘Lendel had moved his things over properly, freeing up his old room as a guest-room. Without the benefit of much cooperation on his end, they managed to get him stripped down, wrapped in a bed-gown, and tucked in under the blankets.

“Donni isn’t really mad,” Mardic whispered conspiratorially to him as they worked. “She’ll come around. She’s very competitive, you know? It galls her that ‘Lendel’s mage-gift is stronger.” He shrugged. “I can’t see why she’s upset, honestly. If the two of us can master concert work, together we’ll be a match for ‘Lendel if not stronger. And in any case, a stronger Gift only means he’ll be more likely to be put in war zones when he goes into his Whites. I figure I can do without that.”

Vanyel suppressed a shudder at the thought of Tylendel going into war zones. They had talked a little about their future, of course, but he had tried not to think too hard about what it really meant to be a Herald – especially the danger.

If the Queen wanted ‘Lendel to go somewhere, he would go. Vanyel couldn’t exactly be happy about that, but it was no different from the Guard, really, the position Lissa would be in soon enough.

Except that it had been Lissa’s choice to seek a place in the Guard, she had worked and struggled towards it half her life, and ‘Lendel hadn’t, he had been Chosen for it. Not that he seemed to resent it. But he wouldn’t, would he? Not when he had Gala, a friend and confidante who was always with him and who loved him unconditionally.

He had tried to ask about it, but ‘Lendel didn’t even seem to understand the question. He hadn’t talked much about his bond with Gala, maybe sensing that it made Vanyel uncomfortable. Gala had saved Tylendel’s sanity, and quite possibly his life – Vanyel had to admit that. And if Gala hadn’t Chosen him, ‘Lendel wouldn’t have come to Haven, and they might never have met. But. But.

But was it really a free choice? Would ‘Lendel really have wanted to put himself in danger, just because of his Gifts, if not for Gala’s presence in his mind and his life?

Savil returned at that point with a small bottle, and Vanyel helped prop ‘Lendel up and rouse him enough to swallow a spoonful of the thick, dark medicine. By his expression, it tasted awful.

But he slept after that, and Vanyel lay curled on the bed next to him and read his History textbook until the sunlight was slanting and golden.

He heard ‘Lendel turn over, and immediately flung the book aside and rolled over to face him. “Feeling better?”

“My head, at least. That nasty stuff really worked.” ‘Lendel ran his tongue over his lips. “Thirsty.”

Vanyel scrambled to pour a glass of cool water from the jug that Margret had left on the table next to their bed. He helped the other boy sit up, and supported the glass with his hand over ‘Lendel’s hand, which was still shaking a little.

‘Lendel looked at it ruefully. “Savil’s right. Hells, I don’t think I’ve drained myself this badly since Gala Chose me. If I let this happen during a battle...”

“You won’t have to be in any battles for a long time, though, right?” Vanyel interrupted, anxiety pooling in his gut. “Not until you’re fully trained. And besides, there aren’t any border wars right now.”

“No, but that can change in a day – you know that, from your History. And there are always civil wars. Local squabbles can get out of control fast and turn as nasty as any border war, Savil says.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I figure she’s right. Maybe right about my brother’s Holding, too, but... Damn it!” The anger flashed through his face again, and Vanyel flinched, but ‘Lendel took a slow, deliberate breath, and then looked up at him apologetically.

Vanyel risked putting a hand on his back; ‘Lendel didn’t push him away. “I’d like to hear your side,” he said finally, hesitantly. “It sounds like the Lesharas did something really bad to – to Staven, to your family... Does it have anything to do with why Staven’s the Lord Holder at seventeen?”

‘Lendel’s body went rigid under his hands. “I promised Savil I wouldn’t drag you into this,” he said stiffly, through a clenched jaw.

“Drag me into it? I think I’m already in it, ‘Lendel! If it’s hurting you...”

‘Lendel sighed, then turned to look at him. “Okay. I’ll tell you and I– I’ll try to be really, really fair. Our families have been at odds for a long time. I don’t think anyone even remembers what set it off in the first place. But last year there was a cattle raid, and, and Wester Leshara’s youngest son was killed – Wester is the Lord Holder, Evan’s his cousin. But in retaliation, he– he did something really unforgivable, Van. My father had just died – and don’t think I’m not suspicious of that, either, he was in poor health but he shouldn’t have declined as fast as he did. Mother, she really took it hard. She was on the edge, and Wester knew that, and he found just the right way to push her over. He, he hired some two-bit conjuror, and he convinced her that Father’s ghost wanted to speak with her. I, I was there, for Father’s funeral – I caught him at it and we got rid of him, but not fast enough. He’d gotten her convinced that she’d be able to talk to Father again if she just took the right formula. She started taking all manner of potions, trying to see him. Finally she _did_ see him - she ate Black Angel mushrooms. Staven and I found her body.”

Vanyel felt sick. “I– I’m so sorry, I didn’t know– I couldn’t imagine, that – that’s _awful_.” Suddenly Tylendel’s anger and his brother’s behavior, which had seemed so inexplicable before, made a little more sense. If anything ever happened to Lady Treesa, gods, if anyone even hurt her or threatened her – he didn’t even have to finish that thought. Didn’t want to finish the thought; his mind bent away from even the possibility. 

Tylendel shrugged, casually, but the look in his eyes was anything but casual. “So that’s what happened. That’s how my twin brother ended up in charge of the Holding, and that’s how the feud escalated to this point. Staven doesn’t want a compromise, he – he wants every last Leshara dead, down to the babes in arms.” He shivered and hugged himself. “I know that’s crazy, I know that at least the children are innocent. But I understand why he feels that way, Van. I– Is that so crazy?”

Vanyel shook his head. “I don’t think so. It means you loved them.”

To his surprise, Tylendel dissolved into tears. He reached out and pulled the other boy to him. “Hey, hey, it’s all right...”

“It isn’t all right!” ‘Lendel’s voice was thick and choked, and he struggled to get the words out. “They– I– I never got to, to, to say g-goodbye, Van! They were d-disappointed in me, t-they thought I was c-crazy, and, and I– I was going to make them proud, and now I never will! _That’s_ what Wester Leshara took from me, Van!” His shoulders shook in Vanyel’s arms. “And, and there’s b-been no j-justice for him, for what he d-did!”

Vanyel felt a note of confusion. “The Heralds haven’t tried him?”

‘Lendel took a deep breath, swallowed. His voice steadied, sounding almost too light. “No proof. They think Father’s death was natural – well, they could be right. And we didn’t think to put the charlatan under the Truth Spell and find out who hired him before we chased him out – remember at this point we didn’t realize how bad Mother was. We don’t know the man’s real name and we don’t have any proof that the Lesharas were paying him. Savil thought we ought to have put Wester Leshara under the Truth Spell, to either confirm it or clear his name, but the rest of the Circle thinks there’s not enough evidence – and it’s not like he killed her with his own hands, they said, or, or even ordered her killed directly, even if he did hire the man, all he did was talk and show her some tricks. And, and there’s political considerations, you can’t just order Lords to go under Truth Spell like that.”

Vanyel hadn’t considered that. “That’s...really awful, ‘Lendel. It’s not fair! I– it shouldn’t matter if he’s highborn!”

“It does, though, doesn’t it? And– And the Council... Savil says they think of this sort of feud as a matter of local law and jurisdiction, to be resolved between our families. Which won’t happen, because Lord Wester is a p-poisonous snake, and– and Staven is...he _won’t_ accept a compromise on this. Ever.” Another sob shook his body. “Savil says this is w-why I was Chosen and he w-wasn’t.”

Vanyel stroked ‘Lendel’s hair, trying to be soothing, even though he felt buffeted and knocked sideways by the conversation. He didn’t know what the right thing was to say; it felt like he was trying to negotiate a narrow pathway through a treacherous battlefield. “Is it really so bad not to be Chosen?” he said finally. “My sister wasn’t, and she’s as good and brave and reasonable as anyone, and she’ll be doing something important. Gods, if your twin _had_ been Chosen, there’d be no one left to run the holding!”

‘Lendel turned his face to look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I... Yeah, that is true. And there’s you, _ashke_. You weren’t Chosen, but you’re everything I could ever want and I, I don’t deserve you...”

He took Vanyel’s shoulders and pulled him down to the bed beside him, and there were no more words for a while. It was only afterwards, when they lay in each other’s arms as the last of the sunset stained the sky purple, that Vanyel thought to ask.

“What was that you called me?”

“ _Ashke_? It means ‘beloved’ in Tayle’edras. Savil spent some time with the Hawkbrothers, she knows their language – she made us learn some. And it’s part of your name already – _ashke_ , Ashkevron, see?” ‘Lendel traced the curve of his cheek lightly with one finger. “Gods, do you even know how amazing you are, my little peacock?”

 

* * *

 

Savil paced the Palace grounds. It was moon-dark, almost cold enough to frost, and she knew she ought to be in her bed.

_Oh, Kairin..._

It was like she could still hear the Death Bell echoing in her head. 

Two things had been discussed in tonight’s meeting – not a meeting of the full Council, but a small gathering of the Heraldic Circle and a few others.

One. They had lost another Herald. It was the third death this year. Her students knew, of course, you couldn’t miss the bell. But they also didn’t know, because they hadn’t worked with Herald-Mage Kairin for twenty years. She and her student, Alia, in her brand-new Whites, had apparently succumbed to a fire they had been trying to put out in a northern village, from the brief messages they had managed to pass through their Companions before they died.

It was a terrible loss, and one of the reasons she was pacing through the darkness rather than warm in her bed.

But aside from that, it didn’t feel right. Kairin was skilled and experienced, and young as she was, Alia had had a good head on her shoulders. It could have been just bad luck, and common sense said it was, but Savil wasn’t the only one with the uneasy feeling that someone more was going on. She didn’t even want to think through the implications if the fire hadn’t been an accident.

Two. Evan Leshara had left the capital, maybe returning to Westrel Keep, maybe not. But one of the Queen’s informants had overheard him boasting in a tavern, and the words overheard had been vague, but could be taken to imply that Leshara had successfully hired an OutKingdom mage.

If that was true, things were about to get a lot worse. And yet the Council wouldn’t agree to act, and Elspeth hadn’t chosen to override them. It was tenuous evidence, true, the odds were against the worst case, and the resources at the Queen’s disposal weren’t so bountiful that they could afford to send one of their undercover agents to investigate on a mere suspicion, let alone send a Herald. Not to a place a whole fortnight’s journey out of Haven, not when there was a bandit problem on the North Trade Road and a collapsed mine in the east and relations with Karse were taking a downwards turn.

So there was that – and, on top of everything else, Tylendel was having problems again. She knew exactly how serious it was, for anyone with a mage-gift as strong as his to lose control. He was making progress, he really was, but he was still terribly vulnerable in some ways. Magic wasn’t just a matter of spells – it was instinct, and implicit beliefs, and subconscious direction. If ‘Lendel believed he could maintain control even in the face of his strongest emotions, it would be much more likely that he could – but he didn’t, because he wasn’t willing to face those emotions, not really. He had locked up a part of himself years ago, and buried it even deeper after the deaths of his parents, and she couldn’t get through all that pain and force him to look at it. 

 _:You lost your temper with him:_ Kellan whispered in the back of her head, chastising. _:You could have handled it better:_

She hung her head. _:I know. I– I’ll do better next time. And I’ll apologize to him in the morning:_

Kellan relented. _:It was understandable, love. You’re under more pressure than he can know. Just– Remember that, will you? Remember that you’re only human:_

Suddenly she wanted Kellan with her, in body as well as in mind, and she turned her path towards Companion’s Field and the stables.

 

She still had the feeling they were making a grave mistake, with the Crown deciding not to intervene in the feud. But she’d never shown a trace of Foresight, and as Lance had reminded her, it was possible she was letting her feelings for Tylendel cloud her judgement. Certainly that seemed to be what everyone else thought. All she could do was watch, wait, hope for the best and plan for the worst.

 _You're going in circles,_ she reminded herself, and tried to let go of the chain of thoughts as she reached the stables. Dammit, though, but she was worried for Vanyel as well. Her nephew was a quick-witted boy, and a lot friendlier now, and to her surprise she found she was warming to him – but with his walls down and his masks set aside, he sometimes seemed very, very young and very, very fragile.

 _:He’s never been given a chance to be his own person, or to make his own decisions:_ Kellan jumped in. _:And, be honest – he’s not being given that chance even now. He knows that everything good in his life right now is at the mercy of your whims. And I don’t think he really trusts you yet. You might still remind him of his father:_

She cringed internally, but she couldn’t deny it. She knew that she looked enough like Withen, and shared some of his mannerisms – and though she preferred to think she was nothing like him in other ways, she knew that was a lie.

 _:But:_ Kellan added _:it’s beyond your control. You know how I feel when you worry about things you can’t do anything about:_

 

* * *

 

> To my dear brother Vanyel,
> 
> My studies continue to go well, I think. I am afraid I got into a fight with one of Lord Corey's sons and he is very miffed with me. He says that I must learn to better control my temper if I hope to command soldiers someday. I suppose he is probably right.
> 
> Lord Corey has agreed to arrange a trip to Haven! He agreed that it would be an important educational opportunity, and it turns out that none of his own children have ever been presented at Court, and his four eldest children – three daughters, one boy – are of marriageable age. He has decided that he and his entourage, which includes myself, will winter in Haven this year!
> 
> I think you would like his daughters. I am not sure whether you would find them more interesting than the girls we knew at home; I wouldn’t say that any of them are as clever as you, but the eldest is bookish and enjoys poetry. And they are all very pretty. But perhaps some lovely young thing at Court has already caught your eye.
> 
> In any case, we will be departing after Harvestfest here. Lord Corey would rather leave sooner, since we may be caught in the first snows, but his lady will not have it. I will be counting down the days!
> 
> All my love, Liss.

 

Vanyel read the letter again, unsure whether to laugh or cry. For a moment he had forgotten that of course Lissa didn’t know about Tylendel. How could she? He was suddenly a little afraid of how she would react. Surely she would be accepting – but did he really know that? It wasn’t like he had ever had a chance to learn her opinion on...people like him, given that he hadn’t known there _were_ such people until a scant few months ago.

He supposed he would find out soon. It was just over a fortnight until Sovvan-night and the Harvest festival. Give another week for travel... Oh, he would find out soon enough.

He heard footsteps on the other side of the garden door, and by the pattern and weight of them, he knew it was Tylendel – and spared a moment of wonder for how attuned he was, that he could recognize little things like that. Was this always something that happened with a lover? 

“Something the matter, _ashke_?” ‘Lendel flopped himself onto the bed next to Vanyel. “You look... I don’t know.”

Vanyel shrugged and held out the letter. “My sister. It sounds like she’s going to visit.”

‘Lendel took the page and read it in what felt like seconds; he was one of the only people Vanyel could think of who read faster than he did. Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Oh! She’s a bit of a matchmaker, I see...” Then he noticed Vanyel’s confused expression. “Were you going to tell her about us?”

Vanyel shook his head. “I– Yes– Maybe... I don’t know! She’s as sensible as anyone I know, and she would take my side against Father any day, I know it, but... What if she’s changed? What if I really don’t know her anymore?”

Tylendel slung his arm over his shoulders and pulled him close. “From all you’ve said, she sounds exactly like a baby Savil. I think we should tell her – or she’ll just ferret it out anyway!”

Vanyel laughed, relieved. “You’re probably right.”He felt the tension drain out of his neck and shoulders, and leaned back against ‘Lendel’s shoulder, grateful for how his lover could always break him out of indecision and uncertainty.

They sat like that for a few minutes, in comfortable silence. Vanyel savoured the moment. The autumn rains had started, but today the sun had broken out and shone weakly through his glazed door and high window, looking warmer than it was. The garden plants and the trees off in the distance were changing colours and losing their leaves, but today they sparkled with a thousand tiny droplets. It was beautiful – and he was with someone he could really, truly trust, who loved him the way he was. _I never thought life could be like this_ , he thought, wonderingly.

He could sense a tension in ‘Lendel’s body, though. “Hey,” he said finally. “I told you what’s bothering me – tell me what’s bothering you?”

Tylendel sighed, heavily. “I– Something’s going on back home. I think something’s wrong. Staven can’t give me that many details, through the link – we can’t send thoughts or words, just pictures and sounds and feelings, really. We worked out a sort of code when we were little, but it’s fairly limited.”

“What do you think it is, though?”

“I– Some kind of threat to the Holding. Not really clear what, I think even Stav isn’t sure what it is. He – there’ve been attacks, he’s found some of his men dead on the outskirts of the land.”

Vanyel felt a pang of fear. “Could it be the Lesharas?”

“Um. It looked like animals killed them – but there shouldn’t be any wild beasts that his men aren’t prepared for.It’s a pretty settled area, no real wilderness. They don’t even see wolves too often.” He shuddered. “I don’t like it, Van. I wish I knew more.”

“Have you told Savil?”

‘Lendel twisted to look at him. “She’d just tell me I was being paranoid, Van. And I haven’t told her how my link with Staven really works. Most things like that fade out with enough distance – even our bonds with our Companions. It’s never been like that with Stav. Doesn’t matter how far I am, I can always reach out and it’s like he’s right there.”

Vanyel was baffled. “But that seems like a good thing? Useful, anyway.” Savil would respect ‘useful’.

‘Lendel shrugged. “It makes me vulnerable. I can feel his pain, and if he’s hurt bad enough I black out. I think Savil would try to make me shut it down.”

Vanyel blinked. “Could you even _do_ that?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to find out!”

Tylendel was shivering hard now. Vanyel put his arms around him and squeezed hard. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Maybe we shouldn’t tell her about it. But I still think you ought to tell her that you think something’s wrong. She might be able to make something out of it that you can’t, and maybe she could get the Council to take this more seriously.”

‘Lendel was silent for a long time. “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” he said finally. “But how do I tell her without telling her about the link?”

“Um. Just say you got a letter from Staven? He probably would send a letter, if he couldn’t reach you with the link? Or don’t specify, and let her assume.”

“Ha! And he might really have sent a letter too, it could be on its way now. He could give me more details in writing – tell me what he suspects, not just what he saw.” ‘Lendel shivered again. “I hope he’s thinking about it. He’s not always a thinker. Especially not when he’s angry, and he _is_ angry.”

Vanyel tried to lighten the mood. “Got a temper like yours, has he?”

“Oh, he’s got twice my temper! I figure he got twice as much of everything.”

“Everything except brains.” He hesitated, chewing his lip. “But it sounds like he really cares about you.” 

‘Lendel sighed. “He does. He… I suppose I never told you. After my Mage-Gift awakened, he was the only one who stayed by me. I can’t really blame the rest. They thought I was possessed. I had no control. No idea what what happening to me. I’d go into fits and wake up surrounded by a fifty-foot circle of debris. No one would come near me.” He shuddered. “And then they found out I was _shay’a’chern_ and people started saying I was cursed.”

Vanyel’s chest clenched. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen when Gala Chose me. Um. Twelve when my Gifts awakened. Fully, I mean. Even before that, I could– I could make some things happen. Make accidents happen to people we didn’t like. Stav always tried to egg me on, even though it made me sick after.” He laughed, not a happy laugh. “Stav could always talk me into anything.”

“Oh?”

He felt the other boy sigh. “Guess I should really tell you the story. It’s pretty embarrassing. Stav was always bigger and taller than me, he looked fifteen even when we were twelve and, um, girls were starting to pay attention to him. He talked a lady who was visiting into bed with him. And he – he persuaded me to, well, listen in. Through the link.”

Vanyel’s breath caught. “Oh.”

His lover looked away. “Anyway. It was a bad idea. I don’t remember all of it, except that I guess I realized something was wrong but I was too embarrassed to break the connection. Thought he’d never let me live it down.” He shrugged. “I blacked out, and when I woke up I’d wrecked our entire room.”

Vanyel tried to bite back his snort of laughter, it really wasn’t funny, but he didn’t manage it in time. ‘Lendel’s eyes widened and then he started to laugh, too, and then they were both laughing until they couldn’t breathe.

He dabbed at his eyes. “I’m…sorry…”

“Don’t be!” ‘Lendel scooted himself up in the bed. “It is funny. I was a damned idiot.” He shrugged. “Stav always got all the attention. He was much better looking. Guess I was jealous.”

Vanyel looked at him, surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d be happy to do without girls pawing over you? I mean, given that…well, you don’t even like girls!”

“Oh, I don’t know... It made me feel a bit left out, at the time. But I reckon you’ve had the other end of the stick, as handsome as you are, and it sounds like you didn’t care much for it. Maybe I should take your word for it.”

His voice was light, but Vanyel was adept at reading him by now, and there was a hint of bitterness. He thought quickly, and ran his fingers through ‘Lendel’s hair. “Does that hurt you?” he whispered. “I– I didn’t mean that. Truly. And I can’t imagine how your brother could possibly be better looking than you. From my side of things, you couldn’t be more perfect.”


	12. Chapter Eleven

“I should get back to my quarters,” Savil said – but she took a sip of the hot mulled wine in her hand, leaned back in the comfortable chair, and sighed appreciatively. It was oppressively hot outside, one of those unexpected warm days that sometimes came in early autumn, but Andrel’s quarters were in the basement level, and pleasantly cool.

Andrel went right on massaging her bare foot. “No, you shouldn’t. You should finish that wine. There’s more where it came from.”

She groaned as his warm, strong hands moved to her other foot. “Ah... You kidnapped me, and now you want to get me drunk?”

Andrel smiled. “What else am I supposed to do? You won’t stop overworking yourself, and you need a break. And some sense knocked into you. I intend to provide that.”

Savil sighed again and let her head fall back against the soft upholstery. ‘Should’ was the operative word, she thought vaguely, the wine already smoothing down the edges of her jagged anxiety. She didn’t _want_ to go back to her quarters and face the pile of reports there. If she was really honest with herself, she wanted to chuck those bloody reports into the fire. Which in itself was a sign she had been working far too hard.

Andrel had gotten out some kind of scented oil, and was rubbing it into her poor, aching, abused feet. It felt like the Havens. One night, she thought, couldn’t make that much of a difference to the workload ahead of her, and it might make a great deal of difference to how she felt about it. She shrugged and downed the rest of the cup, sighing in pleasure as it warmed her stomach.

“There you go.” He released her feet, leaving them tingling, and scooted over on the floor, reaching for her hands. “There you go. Now, what’s gotten you so worked up that you’re shorting yourself on sleep again? You know how important sleep is for maintaining your reserves.”

She knew it, and it was awfully irritating of him to lecture her on it – especially when he worked even longer hours than she did, constantly taking on extra shifts at the House of Healing. It wasn’t like Queen Elspeth needed her magic right now. She wasn’t in a combat zone anymore, she was safely ensconced in the capital, and Elspeth and the Council needed her eyes and her brain and all her years of experience and learning – and most of all, her time. More time than there were candlemarks in the day, and it had to come from somewhere.

“There’s just a lot going on,” she said finally. “Bloody politics.”

Andrel dug his thumbs hard into her palm, and she felt another knot of tension unwind and drain away. “I know. Sometimes a war is easier, isn’t it? You just have to decide and act, and that makes things a lot simpler.”

She sighed heavily. “I– I hate to put it that way, but I suppose it’s true.” It was always surprising how well Andy understood, even though he wasn’t a Herald. It was similar in some ways for Healers, though.

“And I suppose Kellan is telling you to stop worrying about things you can’t control, and you’re doing it anyway?”

Savil started. _:Kellan! Did you tattle?:_

Laughter like bells in her head. _:I would never! You have friends who know you well, is all:_

She sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She let out a breath. Did she?

“I owe you one,” he said, smiling. “You let me get drunk and complain to you last month.”

Well, that was true. “It’s a lot of things, really. The signs of unrest with the Karsites... I guess that’s not really what’s eating at me, though, it’s just generating the most paperwork.” Diplomatic correspondence wasn’t one of her favourite things, but apparently she was good at it, and Lancir always asked her to look over the drafts. “Kairin’s death, of course, I still don’t feel right about it...”

“But that’s not what you’re lying awake stewing about, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. It’s the feud between the Frelennyes and the Lesharas. I know it’s small potatoes compared to the rest, and I know you think I’m letting the fact that Tylendel is my apprentice cloud my judgement.” Though not as much as Jaysen did; she avoided even talking to him about it. “I have a bad feeling this could explode of our control.”

He just nodded. “Go on.”

She groaned. “And the Council won’t act, so we can’t even do anything about it.”

He nodded. “You’ve always hated that, haven’t you?”

“You do understand me awfully well. Anyway, Tylendel told me a few days ago that he had news from his brother. There’s been some commotion at the Holding – some of his brother’s personal guard are dead. It looks like it was done by animals, but those lands are awfully civilized, and these are trained fighters we’re talking about. They ought to be able to fight off wolves, and it’s not the territory for mountain lions. I don’t know what to make of it, and Lance thinks it must be unrelated – there’s a lot of high feelings on both sides, it sounds like Staven’s men would attribute bad weather to the Lesharas. But...”

“But your gut says it could be enemy action.” He released her hand, stood up, and started on her shoulders from behind. “Maybe. I hope it comes to nothing, but I can understand why you’re worried.”

She nodded...and wished she dared tell Andy about the other matter. As far as she could tell, no one even suspected anything between Vanyel and Tylendel, but the stakes felt too high for her comfort. Vanyel was surprisingly good for her student; ‘Lendel needed an outlet for his innate protectiveness, and something to take his mind off his brother. She didn’t think he would have weathered recent matters nearly as well without his new lover. But they only had to slip up once, and she was going to be very unhappy if it resulted in her brother showing up in one of his rages.

Aside from that, it was very irritating sharing a suite with teenaged lovers. They were as sappy as Mardic and Donni in the early days, and it grated on her nerves.

It would have been nice to have another adult to complain to, but she knew telling even one other person would compromise the secret.

She found even those thought slipping away as he kneaded her shoulders. Truly relaxed for the first time in months, she could feel the weariness pressing down on her. Nothing that a few good nights’ sleep wouldn’t fix. The wine was making her head swim pleasantly.

Andy seemed to sense it. “Better. I could order us a little supper to the room. And maybe check if Jaysen’s free. Just for old time’s sake?”

She felt a smile spreading across her face. “Just for old time’s sake. That would be nice.”

 

* * *

 

“I wish it’d just start raining and be done with it,” Vanyel said.

It had been an unseasonably hot day; the air was still and humid, and even though the sky was still clear in the fading light, it felt like stormclouds were already pressing down on them.

“Same.” Tylendel lay beside him, half propped up by Gala’s reclining bulk. They were in the little grove in Companion’s Field that Vanyel had come to think of as ‘their’ grove – after all, he had come here on his first night in Haven, and been startled to learn that it was also one of ‘Lendel’s favourite places. They had both felt too hot and sticky to study, and the weather seemed to have filled ‘Lendel with restless energy – in any case, he had jumped up eagerly when Vanyel suggested a walk. They had a solid routine by now; one of them would go out first and take a meandering path, and the other would join by a different meandering path five minutes or so later.

It was the first time Gala had joined them.

Tylendel groaned. “You’d better talk to me about something else. My control’s not perfect – if I keep thinking about the weather I’m likely to give it a little push without meaning to, and probably make it worse!”

Vanyel gave his lover’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and thought to himself, not for the first time, that the Mage-gift seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He sought about for a distraction. “You’ve never told me much about how Gala Chose you,” he said finally. “What it was like.”

It was an uncomfortable subject for him. He hadn’t quite managed to untangle his feelings about the matter – but a small part of him was frightened of the obvious depths of Tylendel’s love for his Companion. No matter how long they were together, he would never be able to share ‘Lendel’s mind and thoughts like Gala could. And then there was the other matter. Gala came with strings attached. Thanks to her, the person he loved most would face dangers even greater than Lissa would in the Guard. Even if he shrugged it off, even if he claimed to be happy at the chance to make a difference, Vanyel still didn’t have to like it.

‘Lendel sighed, but it was a happy sigh. “A lot of it’s hard to put into words. I wasn’t exactly in a good place at the time. I was fourteen, it had been about two years since I got all my Gifts at full power. I kept destroying things by accident, and everyone knew I was _shay’a’chern_ by then, that was just another reason to shun me. I suppose if I’d had my wits about me I’d have tried to hide it... But in any case Staven was the only one willing to be around me. He would stay with me even during my fits, he protected me and took care of me, and – and when our parents threatened to disown me, he said he’d go with me if they tried. He was the only possible heir at that point and my mother couldn’t have any more children, so they didn’t dare.”

He shuddered. “I know it’s not exactly a happy story so far. But one day Gala came – just pranced down the lane to the Keep, all dolled up in her blue and silver bridle with bells on, and her hooves chiming like bells too. I was in the garden, hiding from everyone, and I thought I was dreaming. I’d never seen a Companion close up, or without a rider... But she just came right up to me, and I looked into her eyes, and it was like I was falling, but falling into the most beautiful blue I’d ever seen. She, she saw all of me, my temper and the grudges I bear, all the parts of me that aren’t exactly lovable, but she was in my head, right there with me, and I knew she loved me anyway and she would never leave me. That would’ve been enough, right there.”

Vanyel felt the expected pang of jealousy, but it was mixed with gratitude. He looked up – and saw her watching him, her huge blue eyes full of sympathy and understanding.

“But that’s not all she did for me,” ‘Lendel said, his voice a little unsteady. “She got my Mage-gift and Fetching under control, put her own shields on me, and showed me how to block people’s thoughts and feelings out of my head. She brought me back to sanity, Vanyel – she showed me that I wasn’t possessed at all, and that what I thought was a curse was really a Gift. She showed me what I would be able to do when I was trained, how strong I’d be, how much I’d be able to do... I, I still wish I hadn’t done what I did with Stav, that my gifts had awakened naturally in their own time. Would’ve been a lot less messy, and maybe I – maybe I would’ve been on better terms with my parents, before they died. But I can’t regret it, not when it brought me Gala.”

Vanyel nodded. “I think I can understand that.” He half rolled over, cuddling against ‘Lendel’s chest. “I see why you love her so much.”

“I do love her, Van. But not like I love you. She– she’s the sister of my soul and I need her desperately, but she’s not my equal, can you see that? She – she’s like a big sister, really.”

“And what am I?”

“You’re my partner, Van. On every level. You can’t read my thoughts, but– but it only means more when you guess how I’m feeling anyway. You need me, but I need you too. Even Gala says so.”

Vanyel twisted his neck to look over at Gala, who nodded her ponderous head and winked. He relaxed and laid his cheek on ‘Lendel’s chest. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he murmured.

“Mmm... Savil said today she can’t believe we don’t fight more. She says we’re sickening.”

“She would say that... ‘Lendel, I couldn’t fight with you. Not when my father could drag me back to Forst Reach any moment. I– I couldn’t bear it if my last memory of you wasn’t a happy one.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that, Van. I have no intention of letting your father find out. And if he does, I– I’ll kidnap you first, and ride away into the sunset with you! I can’t lose you now!”

Vanyel laughed despite himself. “I know.”

They lay in silence for a while, as the last light faded out of the sky, leaving the air just as heavy and hot. Vanyel felt too sleepy to move.

Tension flared in the air.

Tylendel jerked suddenly. “Staven? Sta– No, no no nonono...”

Vanyel scrambled up, yanked out of a half-doze. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness except for the faint white glow of Gala’s hide. “’Lendel, what–”

Tylendel broke off, made a choking sound, and then screamed. It didn’t seem like the sort of sound a human throat ought to be able to make. The scream went on and on, tearing apart the calm night, driving every thought from Vanyel’s head. Birds took flight around them. The trees swayed in an invisible breeze.

Vanyel grabbed at ‘Lendel’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here...”

‘Lendel’s body convulsed, his muscles spasming so hard that his head slammed backwards into the ground with a crack. Desperately, he wrestled ‘Lendel’s flailing limbs, and managed to get his head into his lap, cushioned from impact with the earth. A moment later, Tylendel’s arm flew into his nose. He knew it had to be accidental, but the pain half-stunned him for a moment, and he had to blink to clear his watering eyes.

He looked down at Tylendel’s face – which was twisted into an expression that looked barely human. He had bit through his lip, and blood dribbled down his chin. The air seemed to be glowing – Vanyel glanced up and saw, through the blowing leaves, flashes of vermilion lightning darting about the edge of the clearing. He felt the familiar tension, like a string pulled tight in his belly, which he had come to associate with nearby magic.

Gala! She was no longer next to them – where was she? Still struggling to restrain Tylendel and prevent him from injuring himself, he looked around frantically. Eventually he spotted Gala, off to one side of the grove, straining forwards as though fighting a powerful wind. The tree trunks themselves were swaying and bending heavily now, and bits of branches, some quite large, were flying through the air. As he watched, a whole tree splintered and crashed to the ground, then was lifted again by the wind and blown around them in a spiral.

“GALA!” he screamed, the unnatural wind nearly drowning out his voice. “Get help! Get Savil!”

She was glowing, too, radiating a light the same blue color as her eyes. She strained her neck forward, but she seemed to realize that she wouldn’t be able to reach them. A moment later, she reared up, turned, and galloped away into the darkness.

Vanyel blinked back more tears. Tylendel’s convulsions were growing weaker, but the fury around them was raging even harder. Whole tree trunks were being uprooted and flung through the air. Bits of earth were falling onto his head and back. He could only clutch ‘Lendel’s body to his chest and try to protect him from the storm – the storm that he knew ‘Lendel had to be causing.

Finally, between one moment and the next, Tylendel jerked and then went completely limp in his arms, and everything stopped. The darkness was suddenly complete. Twigs and branches rained down on his head; he didn’t even bother trying to protect himself, although some of the impacts were hard enough to leave bruises.

Then there was light, blazing white, coming closer. Vanyel looked up and saw three Companions galloping towards him. He recognized the tall, bleached-looking man who reached them first and vaulted to the ground as Herald Jaysen, Savil’s colleague. Savil reached them a moment later, dismounting more slowly and a little unsteadily. She squatted down. “Let me look at him, boy,” she said gruffly.

Vanyel reluctantly uncurled, trying to ignore his throbbing face. Under the mage-light, which had paused to hover directly over their heads, ‘Lendel’s face was grey-white, contrasting sharply with all the blood – some of it from his lip, some from Vanyel’s nose. He was breathing, but strangely, irregular and shallow. Savil touched his forehead for a moment, then lifted one eyelid.

“Looks like backlash to me,” she said shortly. Her voice was very slightly soft around the edges, the way she sounded on the rare occasions she allowed herself more than a single cup of wine. She twisted her head around. “Andrel?”

“Here.” The third Companion trotted up to join them – Vanyel recognized Gala, although he wasn’t sure how he could tell the difference – and a man in Healer greens with bright orange hair slid clumsily from her back.

“Thank the gods. Come here.”

The Healer called Andrel knelt beside Savil and placed his own hand on Tylendel’s forehead. He kept it there longer; his eyes closed and his face went blank. Finally, nearly a minute later, he took his hand away and scooted back.

“Backlash shock,” he said. “Worst I’ve seen. Not much I can do about it; get him into a warm bed and hope for the best.”

“What’s going on?” Vanyel’s ears were singing, and his whole face hurt. “What happened to him, Savil? I– Did I do this to him? I didn’t mean...”

“Shush, lad. It wasn’t you. Hand him over to Andrel, would you? You heard what he said – we need to get him back to the suite now.”

He reluctantly let the Healer scoop up Tylendel’s head and shoulders. Savil and Jaysen, without speaking, made a sort of chair with their hands and supported his legs. Without hesitating, they started off across the field.

Vanyel looked back. There wasn’t a single plant intact in what had once been their grove.

He scrambled up to follow them, wanting to take Tylendel’s hand, but aware of the two others, who had already directed a few odd looks at him. “But what–” he began.

“I don’t have time to explain now,” Savil barked. “His Gifts got out of control, you saw that yourself, and he’s damaged himself badly in the process.” She paused, and then spoke a little more gently. “What I got out of Gala is, close as I can figure, the fit started the moment his brother was killed.”

“Killed? But–”

“Later.” He saw that Savil was wincing with each step. He knew this sort of weather made her bones ache – she had to be in a lot of pain.

“Hey,” he said. “Let me help. I’m stronger than I look.”

Savil looked sharply at him, but she let them stop for a moment while Vanyel took her place, locking arms with Jaysen.

Jaysen peered at him. “Lad, did you know your nose is broken?”

“Nevermind,” Savil snapped. “Andrel can fix it. Later.”

 

* * *

 

They made it back to the rooms, through the first patter of raindrops, and Andrel methodically helped Vanyel strip ‘Lendel down and put him to bed while Jaysen and Savil spoke in low voices by the blazing fireplace. Tylendel rolled bonelessly under their hands and showed no sign of waking. Mardic and Donni joined them just as they finished bundling him up, and Mardic put a hand on Vanyel’s arm and gently pulled him over to one side of the room, which was starting to feel crowded. Andrel sat on the side of the bed, and put his hand on Tylendel’s forehead again. This time he sat in silence for a solid five minutes.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said finally. “The physical effects of the backlash are bad enough, but... He had that link with Staven, didn’t he? Something like a lifebond? In any case, his mind is all torn up. I think he’s got an even chance of surviving the backlash, but I can’t say he’ll come through this with his sanity intact.”

Savil and Jaysen looked at each other. “Lancir?” Savil said quietly.

Andrel shrugged and stood up. “Maybe. For now, keep him warm and comfortable, and try to get some fluids into him if he wakes up enough. Someone should stay with him – someone he trusts. It would be best if his Companion could be with him, too, but I don’t figure she’ll fit. That’s all we can do for now.” He looked over at Vanyel. “Come here, lad. Let me do something about that nose.”

Vanyel moved cautiously over to him. He felt cool hands on his face, and then a moment of blinding pain that nearly buckled his knees. It was gone a second later, leaving only a vague soreness. He touched his nose, cautiously – it still hurt, and it felt swollen to the size of an apple, but it was bearable. 

Andrel smiled absently. “Good, good.” A blink later, and he was gone.

Savil shooed Jaysen gently away. “I’ll be all right. We’ll need to figure out what to do about this mess at the Council meeting tomorrow, but there’s nothing more to be done tonight.”

When he had gone, she came to Vanyel’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. She took a deep breath. “I– I’m sorry if I was rough with you, lad. I– ‘Lendel needs you. You heard what Andy said. He’s going to have a rough time of it.”

Vanyel blinked, his eyes suddenly stinging. “I– It sounded like he, he might–”

“I’m not going to let him die. You hear that? But I want you here with him. He trusts you. More than he trusts me. I figure you’re the only person who can help him come through this with his mind intact, and my Kellan says that Gala agrees. I’ll... Hmm. I’ll say you were injured when he had the fit, that should keep you out of classes for a few days, and it’s not exactly a lie.” She turned her head. “Mardic! Bring us a basin of water and a cloth, would you? We’ll get you cleaned up.”

She sighed, then, and rubbed her back. “Storm’s coming. Damn but he must’ve sent the local weather patterns all to hell when he went off like that.”

 

* * *

 

A candlemark later, Mardic and Donni had been sent off to bed, and Savil had gone to her own room, although Vanyel figured she wasn’t likely to be asleep. He was alone with Tylendel, in a chair he had dragged over next to the bed. He was too hot, with the fire burning merrily and every candle lit, but ‘Lendel’s hand was still ice-cold in his.

The silence seemed to fill the room – it felt like it was pressing down on him, and the pattering rain and occasional rattle of thunder did nothing to break it.

“’Lendel, I’m here,” he said finally, just to hear some sound. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” What was there to say? “I need you, okay? We all need you to come through this. S-Savil needs someone to make her laugh. Donni needs someone to push her so she doesn’t get complacent. Mardic needs a friend, and I’m not much of one, you know that. And I– I need you to keep me sane, did you know that? Besides, I’m too far behind in History to catch up without you... ‘Lendel, we need you to wake up so you can tell us what happened to your brother. Because right now we have no idea, but you saw it, didn’t you? I– I know it hurts more than I can imagine, that you lost him. I know, okay? But you need to come back to us. Come back to me. Please.” He bit down a sob. “I want to have breakfast with you again. Remember the time Donni tried to sneak up to surprise us and you nailed her with an apple? And remember how she went flat down on her rump? I need you to defend me from Donni’s practical jokes, you know I’m not devious enough.”

He kept talking, rambling from one topic to another until his voice gave out; eventually he picked up his lute, and played until his fingers cramped. His eyes ached with exhaustion. Tylendel was the same, his breath shallow and uneven, his skin waxy white. It was starting to sink in that he really might die, and Vanyel didn’t think he had ever been so afraid.

The storm outside wore itself out before morning. As the sky started to lighten, Vanyel found himself nodding off and catching himself. He had to stay awake... He got up and paced briefly, even stuck his head outside for a breath of cool air, but his limbs felt weighted down. Finally he gave in and sat back down, slipping his hand into ‘Lendel’s again, feeling his chin sink towards his chest. If he didn’t actually get into bed, maybe he could doze without fully falling asleep...

He woke up with a start, the morning sunlight shining into his eyes, to find a hand on his arm. He jerked forwards, ignoring the protests of his bruised shoulders and neck, and saw Tylendel looking into his eyes. 

“I...heard you...” he said slowly. “Wanted...to answer...too tired...”

Vanyel reached for him, half believing he was dreaming. “It’s okay...I’m here. I, I just want you here with me...”

“Van...” Tylendel whispered, even fainter. “Staven...” And his face crumpled.

“I know.” Vanyel scooted over to sit on the bed, and held his lover as gently as he could, as though he might blow away in the wind. He looked like he might – his skin was still frighteningly translucent, and his eyes were distant even as he cried.

He wanted the moment to himself – this was sacred, too, just as much as the happy times. After a few minutes of sobbing, Tylendel seemed to have fallen asleep again, but his breathing was steadier, and his hands were no longer ice-cold. Vanyel felt a knot release in his chest. It seemed like the worst was over. 

He stroked ‘Lendel’s hair for a long time, but finally stood up. He had to tell Savil, if he could find her, and he remembered Andrel saying that Tylendel would need to drink. That was what they always said when you were sick, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story, comments are very much appreciated and will feed my soul!


	13. Chapter Twelve

“Come on,” Vanyel coaxed, holding up the spoon. “You need to eat.”

“Can’t,” Tylendel, propped up in a nest of pillows, groaned and glared at him. It was evening now, and it had been a trying day. When he was awake, which was barely a quarter of the time, he was very hard to deal with. Not that Vanyel could blame him – he was feverish on and off, and he clearly felt miserable. He was too hot, then too cold five minutes later. He was too weak to move much on his own, and he couldn’t get comfortable and kept begging for Vanyel’s help, semi-incoherently, and then complaining bitterly when the new position failed to hurt any less. Andrel had mixed up some packets for an herb tea, which he said ought to help, but it was a trial getting Tylendel to drink any of it, much less the prescribed amount.

“You mean won’t,” Vanyel said, patiently holding the spoonful of soup.

“Go away.”

“I won’t go away. Andrel says half the reason you feel so awful is that you’re not drinking enough water. And we need to get some food into you or you’ll go back into shock. Andrel says so.”

Tylendel winced. “Shut up.”

“I will if you eat this.”

Tylendel made a face, but he opened his mouth to admit the spoon. He swallowed, with a nauseated expression, but the soup stayed down.

“Good.” Vanyel waited. “All right, another.”

“I said. Go away.” Tylendel closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“I’ll let you sleep if you finish this. Otherwise I’m just going to keep bothering you.”

“I hate you.”

“Well, I love you. Which is why I’m here, making sure you eat.” Savil had already stormed off, muttering that she ‘hated insufferable sick people’ and Vanyel was welcome to ‘go on pretending to be a saint.’ Vanyel guessed she was only snapping because she was as worried as he was.

Tylendel’s face softened. “I know. It’s just...this...goddamned...headache.” He flopped back against the pillows. “Can’t eat more. I’ll be sick.”

“You keep saying that, but you haven’t yet, and you still need to eat. Besides, Andrel says there are herbs in this that will soothe your stomach.”

Tylendel made a disgusted face, but accepted another spoonful. He only finished half the soup before he really did fall asleep, mid-sentence.

Vanyel sighed, set the bowl aside, and tried to get ‘Lendel horizontal without waking him. He stood up, groaning, and rubbed his sore shoulder – he didn’t remember what had hit him there, but he had a bruise the size of his hand. He’d dared to glimpse in the mirror once, and hadn’t looked again – he had two spectacular black eyes and his nose was as swollen as he had feared. At least it didn’t hurt too much anymore.

He looked back at Tylendel, peaceful in sleep, and something swelled up in his heart, the same wordless song that had driven him to reach out to ‘Lendel in the first place. He couldn’t find it in himself to resent any of it, not when it meant ‘Lendel was alive. _Besides, Andrel did say all Heralds are stubborn idiots and terrible patients. I bet Savil would be just as insufferable._

 

* * *

 

Vanyel gave up reading his History text and set it aside, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t bathed in two days by now, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. Tylendel had woken up screaming from nightmares over and over – well, by the third time or so, Vanyel had somehow jolted awake and sensed his distress, and managed to wake him before he had a chance to start screaming. He had still been inconsolable, though, sobbing in Vanyel’s arms for what felt like several candlemarks before he could sleep again. And he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk about what he saw in his dreams. _I probably don’t want to know._

He stood up to pace again. It was daylight, although the grey rainy sky felt very dreary, and Tylendel had been sleeping for a few candlemarks now. He seemed a little better – there was a hint of colour in his cheeks, and he was strong enough to turn over in bed and feed himself, at least. Savil hadn’t said much about the Council meeting the previous day, which made him think that not much had been decided. She did say that a Herald had been dispatched from her regular circuit to investigate. That was something.

A sound made him turn. Tylendel’s eyes were open and he was trying to sit up. Vanyel hurried to help, but ‘Lendel waved him away and managed to struggle into a mostly upright position against the headboard.

“Heya,” he said softly. “How’s your head?”

“Could be worse.” His lover’s voice was normal enough, but there was something furtive in his eyes. “I– It means a lot, you know. That you’ve been here for me.”

“And what else do you expect me to do, silly?” He sat down on the side of the bed and took ‘Lendel’s hand, which was reassuringly warm. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” Tylendel shook his hair out of his eyes. “I– I need you to help me with something, Van.”

“Anything.” Vanyel thought he had a good idea of what it might be, and he had mixed feelings about it. “But I need something from you first. I– ‘Lendel, I know it can’t be easy to even think about this, but if you remember anything, I– we need to know how Staven died. There was a Council meeting about it, but they don’t really know anything. Can you help us?”

Tylendel was staring at him – although what was so shocking about it, Vanyel had no idea. His jaw twisted, and he blinked hard, but he finally looked up. “Staven was assassinated, Van. By the Lesharas.”

“Um. That did seem like the most likely possibility.”

‘Lendel grabbed for his shoulders, suddenly impassioned. “But it’s not just that! He– he was murdered with magic!”

Vanyel blinked. _Oh gods no_ , he was thinking, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “Savil will want to know that. Do you remember anything else?”

There were tears rolling down ‘Lendel’s cheeks, but he forced the words out. “He, the mage, he brought in some kind of c-creatures. Not natural. He, they, they taunted him, Staven, they harassed the edges of the lands until he, until he rode out to find them. Then they weren’t there...he rode all day, tired himself and his men out...and the mage brought them out and ambushed him, killed his men, and then–” Tylendel’s voice broke and he fell against Vanyel, sobbing.

Vanyel ran a soothing hand over his back until the sobs quieted. “And then what?” he said, gently but insistently. “It – it sounds like it was bad.”

“It was. They– they hurt him, Van! On purpose! He– I was right there, Van, I was in his head! I know what they did! It wasn’t enough just to kill my brother! They had to torture him too!” Tylendel was almost shouting now. A moment later, Mardic ran into the room, Donni right behind him.

“Wha–”

Vanyel stopped him with a raised hand. “Mardic, there’s something Savil needs to hear about. Could you do the Mindspeech thing and have her come here?” He looked back at Tylendel’s twisted, tearstained face. “And could we have a few minutes alone until she comes, please?”

Donni looked dubious, but she darted back out. Mardic stayed a moment longer, looking worriedly at them, but then left as well and closed the door behind him.

Tylendel’s whole body was quaking in his arms. Vanyel was pretty sure that if his magic hadn’t been completely drained, the room would have been bouncing around. Small mercies. He rocked Tylendel in his arms, trying to choose the right words to say. “Shush, I know. You– Your brother shouldn’t have died like that, and you shouldn’t have had to live through that! They were monsters, whoever decided to do this, and I – I wish I could’ve stopped it. I wish I could’ve kept both of you safe.” He wasn’t sure he had ever been this angry, but he was afraid, too. He – there were images coming into his head of what he wished he could do to whoever had been behind the attack – Evan Leshara, most likely – but he didn’t think it would do ‘Lendel any good to hear about them.

“I don’t suppose you – Staven, I mean – got a look at the mage, did you?”

‘Lendel shook his head, jerkily. “He was there– he was laughing, Van! But Staven never saw his face.” His jaw worked. “I think I’d know his voice though.”

 _Let’s hope we never come close enough to him to find out_ , Vanyel thought. But there was a conversation they had to have, and he wanted it to be done before Savil arrived. He released Tylendel long enough to grab a handkerchief from the bedside drawer and pass it to him. “I– You wanted my help?” he said hesitantly.

Tylendel nodded, blinked, and scrubbed the cloth across his face. “Vengeance,” he said calmly. The secretive look was back in his eyes. “I promised him, Van. It was the last thing he sent to me before he died – he was begging... I promised him!”

“I know. And I know Savil won’t understand, not really. I understand, ‘Lendel, I promise. I’ll help you however I can.”

‘Lendel’s face crumpled again. “I– You’re too good, I, I don’t deserve you, I shouldn’t bring you into this...”

“I’m in it already, _ashke_. We’re partners, right? That means I’m there for you for the bad as well as the good.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say this right. “But – ‘Lendel, I’m here to make sure you don’t do something glorious and stupid and get yourself killed, okay? Because that’s the last thing Staven would have wanted! So I’ll help you, but I’ll help you come up with a _good_ plan, and– and let’s wait to come up with a plan at all until we find out what the Council’s going to do, all right?”

‘Lendel shook his head, slowly. “They won’t do it. They’ll want to make peace, not avenge my brother.”

“Maybe. In which case we’ll think of something.” He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that – surely the Council would have to take it seriously now! “But let’s wait and see, okay? You’re in no shape to go anywhere right now, and these men live two weeks away by fast horse. A few days won’t make a difference, and Staven would understand that.”

Tylendel looked like he wanted to say something else, but he shook his head. After a long silence: “Did I do that to your nose?”

“Yes, but you weren’t exactly yourself. It’s not so bad, anyway. Andrel healed it.”

“Doesn’t look very healed to me...”

“Well, mostly.”

A moment later, the garden door banged and Savil ran into the room, panting. “What is it? Is ‘Lendel–” She saw Tylendel sitting up, and relaxed a little. “Vanyel, why–”

Vanyel took a deep breath. It was harder meeting Savil’s pale, steady eyes than he had expected. “I– Aunt, there’s some things I think you should hear. About how Staven died.” ‘Lendel’s face was taking on a closed, bleak look. “ _Ashke_ , do you want to tell it again?” His head shook convulsively. He put a hand on ‘Lendel’s shoulder, and turned back to Savil.

“Um. ‘Lendel remembers some things that Gala didn’t manage to get from him before he went into the fit. Staven was definitely murdered – assassinated – and, and there was magic involved. Leshara must’ve really managed to hire a mage from OutKingdom. They– ‘Lendel said he brought in creatures, something unnatural. They were harassing the edges of his lands – that’s what Staven thought was animal attacks. He rode out to try to find and kill them and he was ambushed, the mage brought the creatures in and killed his entourage, and then they, they hurt Staven, before they killed him. The mage was there, but Staven never saw his face, so neither did ‘Lendel.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I think that’s all.”

“Gods!” Savil’s face took on a blank, concentrated look, and Vanyel guessed she was Mindspeaking. Then she began to pace. “Lad, I am very glad you told me immediately. That was a good thought, asking Mardic to call me. You’ve more sense in a crisis than I expected.” She paced another tour of the room. “Kernos’ horns! We need to warn Herald Raina. If she went into that unawares...” Her face took on the blank look again, for longer this time. Then, quite suddenly, she tottered over to the fire and dropped into the chair beside it.

“I feel a right idiot,” she said dully. “I thought we’d need to hear ‘Lendel out sooner or later, but I didn’t think he’d be up to it yet. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be up to it either. I’m damn proud that you took initiative and got it out of him, but you should’ve have had to do it on your own.”

‘Lendel’s eyes were darting around. “See?” Vanyel whispered to him. “They’re taking it seriously.”

Savil was murmuring to herself now. “I’d better have them come here, can’t take the him out of the suite...” Her face went blank, then, and she alternated quiet muttering and blank-faced probably-Mindspeaking until two Companions galloped up to the garden. One of the cloaked riders dismounted stiffly and went to help the other. Vanyel quickly stood up and moved to stand with his back against the wall – he wanted to hold ‘Lendel, desperately, but he also didn’t want to betray their secret.

Savil rose and went to open the garden door for them.

The two Heralds fled the rain eagerly, stopping at the threshold to shake out their cloaks and hang them next to the door. Savil took one of the cloaks with a muttered “no, I insist”, and Vanyel realized with a start that the Herald was Queen Elspeth. She didn’t look very queenly, shivering by the door, her Whites a little loose on her thin frame.

“Your majesty.” He offered his best courtly bow.

She shook her head, irritation flashing through her eyes. “Please. Just think of me as another Herald.”

Mardic and Donni were back a moment later, presumably summoned by Mindspeech, each of them carrying two chairs. The other Herald, an older man who had clearly once been very handsome and whose broad shoulders still carried plenty of muscle, ushered the Queen over to the chair that Vanyel had abandoned beside the bed, and drew it out for her.

The Queen sat, almost close enough to touch. Tylendel might not have noticed her at all – his eyes were closed and he was rocking slightly from side to side. Her dark eyes moved over him, paused, and then moved to Vanyel. She smiled at him then, if a little thinly. “Vanyel Ashkevron, right? It would be a pleasure, if not for the circumstances.” Vanyel felt his face growing warm.

Running footsteps approached outside. The Herald who had come with the Queen waved to Savil to stay sitting, and went to open the door. Jaysen piled in followed by another Herald, a tall woman with fair hair in braids.

“That’s everyone,” the Queen said, wearily. It didn’t seem fair, Vanyel found some part of himself thinking – a Queen ought not to be so tired. Not that he could really be surprised. Running a Kingdom had to be a lot of work.

He was still a little overwhelmed that the Queen of Valdemar was sitting in his room. Which they hopefully wouldn’t realize was his room as well as ‘Lendel’s. 

Savil jerked her chin at Mardic, hovering by the door. “Fetch us some hot drinks, please, and then out.”

Mardic looked steadily back at her. “I’m not a child. Donni and I might have some useful things to say.”

“Figure he’s right,” the older Herald said laconically. “We could use another pair of eyes on this.”

“Fine. Well, nothing you hear leaves this room. Okay?”

Donni appeared at the door, holding a tray of steaming mugs. She had clearly anticipated Savil’s request.

“Good girl. All right, let’s all find places to sit. Now, where do we even start?”

Queen Elspeth accepted the mug of tea from Donni with a graceful nod. “I’d like to hear Vanyel’s explanation again, if that’s all right.” She turned her dark, liquid eyes on him.

Tongue-tied, Vanyel managed to stumble through the whole story again, cheeks flaming. He could feel all the eyes on him like a weight.

Afterwards, there was a long silence.

Elspeth cupped her hands together over her nose. “Gods, what a mess. At least we’re finding out now rather than later. I’m assuming someone’s warned whoever we sent – Herald Raina, right?”

Jaysen shook his head. “We sent the message down-chain and the nearest strong Mindspeakers have tried to reach her. They couldn’t, we got the message back just a few minutes ago. They put in a message to send some of the Guard and intercept her before she reaches the Leshara lands, but Raina was closer and she had a good head start.”

The Queen sighed. “Well, she’s only a moderate Mindspeaker, isn’t she? Could be she was just distracted.” She rubbed her eyes. “Hopefully not by an OutKingdom mage. She’s not mage-gifted; she wouldn’t stand a chance, but at least she knows that. In any case, can’t be helped now.” She turned to look at Savil. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“About these creatures?” Savil shrugged. “Hopefully ‘Lendel will be able to give us a clearer description at some point, but they sound like something out of the Pelagirs.”

“I was afraid of that.”

There was a beat of silence. Vanyel sipped the tea that Donni had handed him, glad that at least all the eyes were no longer on him.

“Savil’s the only one of us who’s even been to the Pelagirs,” Jaysen said absently. He looked over at the Herald next to him, the fair-haired woman. “Keiran, what do you think? This is more your domain than mine.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think a frontal assault is the way to handle this. There’s bad blood on both sides. We’ve got the makings of a nice little civil war here, and I don’t want to stir the pot too hard. Hmm... I think we’re best off finding out exactly what happened, and waiting until then to bring down the Law of the Kingdom hard on whoever’s actually responsible. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of the mage, if he’s still about, but I doubt he’s in it for wholesale destruction. Hells, if he really was hired to assassinate Lord Frelennye... Well, if I were him, I’d be halfway to the Border already with a fat purse. But who knows. All we can do is tread carefully.”

“But quickly, I think,” Jaysen said a beat later. “Savil, you thought we were making a mistake, letting the situation sit as it was... Well, I can’t say I know what else we could have done, with what we knew at the time, but we certainly shouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

Everyone looked at the Queen. She rubbed her eyes again.

“I think you’re right, Jaysen. We need to get on top of this, preferably yesterday. But Herald Keiran is right as well. If we’re too heavy-handed... Well, we can’t afford to create any more bad feeling. I know that area. They’re already mighty suspicious of the Crown.” She looked at the Herald next to her. “Lance? What do you think about our next move?”

He must be Herald-Mage Lancir, the Queen’s Own Herald, Vanyel thought.

Lancir shifted in his chair. “I think our next move is seeing what we can do for Trainee Tylendel. I’m surprised he was coherent enough to tell us anything, after he’s been through, and I dare say that’s a good sign. But I think our best chance at setting the Frelennye lands straight is if we have him there, and functional. He’s out of the running as heir, of course, but he knows the people, and he’ll have some authority. I know the region too. Family means more than a distant Crown.”

Everyone was nodding. “Can you help him?” Savil said, her voice almost pleading.

He shrugged. “I’ll try.” He looked around. “Best not wait. I’d like to speak with him now, if that’s all right with you, Elspeth. Preferably alone.” He glanced at Vanyel. “The lad can stay.”

The Queen only nodded, and closed her eyes, reaching to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Jaysen bounced up out of his chair. “All right, everyone! Let’s move this meeting somewhere else.”

“My private meeting room,” Queen Elspeth said, opening her eyes, and reached for Lancir, who helped her stand. “And I want a Council meeting as soon as we can manage, we’ll have to get those old goats to agree if we decide we need a major redistribution of our forces for this.”

She moved gracefully enough once she was up, but it was clear that she was tired and maybe hurting. Close up she looked a lot older than she had from a distance, with the fine lines that traced her face, and streaks of silver in her dark hair.

Jaysen helped Savil stand, and Mardic handed out the cloaks hanging by the door while Donni ran out and returned with Savil’s cloak and shoes. The woman called Keiran, who by process of elimination Vanyel thought must be the Lord Marshal’s Herald, waited by the door as though guarding it, and then they all moved out together. Donni closed the door behind them, firmly, and then added more wood to the fire. Mardic came over and laid his hand on Vanyel’s shoulder for a moment.

Vanyel reached up to briefly squeeze his hand. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

And then he and Tylendel were alone with the Queen’s Own Herald. ‘Lendel still had his eyes closed, and Vanyel was unsure how much, if any, of the conversation he had followed.

Lancir turned his gaze on Vanyel and kept it there for a long time, almost searchingly.

“Lad,” he said finally, “did you know that you’re lifebonded to each other?" 

“What?” Vanyel found himself on his feet, heart racing in sudden terror. His first thought was that it had to be a joke of some kind, or a test – his second, that he was doomed. Who would have guessed that the secret would get out this way?

Lancir laughed. “Relax. I can bloody well guess that if you are together, Savil would have ordered you not to tell a soul. And I do know who your father is.” He put a finger beside his nose. “Your secret is safe with me. In any case, all I wanted to know is whether you are, well, together. I’ve seen lifebonds where both parties were solidly in denial.”

Vanyel shook his head, even more confused. “I...no... Fine, we are together! I love him!”

“I believe you. And I’m glad. Because this isn’t going to be easy. Listen, has Savil told you what my Gift is?”

He blinked, confused again by the apparent non-sequitur. “You’re a Herald-Mage?"

Lancir laughed again. “Well, yes. But my less widely known and, frankly, more important Gift is that I’m a MindHealer. Do you know what that is?”

“I– Yes. Sort of. I thought it was really rare?”

“It is. I’m the only MindHealer in the Heraldic Circle, the Healers have a couple more but none of them are based in Haven right now. Oh, anyone with strong enough Empathy and a bit of Thought-sensing can do a lot of what I do, with training, but there are some advantages. Healers can Heal broken bodies, well, I Heal broken minds.”

“And ‘Lendel needs... I see.” Vanyel shifted his weight on the bed, unsure what to say next. “Um. You wanted me to stay. What do you want me to do?”

“A helpful one! Good lad. First of all, I want you to hold him, so he feels safe.”

Vanyel nodded and scooted over on the bed, putting his arm around the other boy, who was rocking again.

Lancir scooted his chair closer, and took both of Tylendel’s hands in his own. “Hey there. Tylendel. Open your eyes for me?” His voice had changed – it was deeper, gentler. Something shifted in the room. The air felt suddenly warmer, and the corners seemed softer. Vanyel had the sense he was only picking up on the fringe of something mainly directly at Tylendel.

“Come on. There, good. Listen – I’m going to have to talk to you, and it’s going to be hard, and I can’t even promise you’ll feel better afterwards. You might feel worse. Sometimes pain is an appropriate response to the circumstances, you know? But I think I ought to hear your side of things.”

Tylendel didn’t respond.

“That’s all right. When you’re ready. And I can make it a little easier, so you don’t have to do so much talking, if you want. Okay if I get Vanyel to tell me a bit about you?”

‘Lendel stared blankly, and for a moment Vanyel wasn’t sure if he had even heard the words, but then he nodded.

Lancir turned to him. “All right, lad. I want you to tell me about ‘Lendel. Not about his history, I know enough of that, but I don’t know _him_ , and you do. Better than anyone, I’d wager. So. What’s special about him? He must be pretty special, for you to love him so much.”

It was a discomfiting speech, and Vanyel felt tongue-tied again. He took a deep breath and, in faltering words, tried to do as Lancir had asked. “I, well... First, he looked out for me, even before he knew me. And even when I was being a bit of an arrogant brat, really. He thought I was worth his time even when– when no one else really had before. He’s clever about people – he pays attention and figures us out, and looks out for us. Like with Savil – he knows when she needs a shoulder, or a distraction, or someone to make her laugh. Or to be reminded to eat! He’s loyal and, and I guess he’s awfully protective of people – of his people. When he promises that he’ll never let anyone hurt me, I believe it. I don’t know why but I do. He– he feels strongly, I think. Like I do, I guess, but he’s not embarrassed about it and he doesn’t try to hide it. He loves hard, and...and he hates hard. I guess you could say he’s loyal with his grudges too... He keeps his promises. And he promised, he promised... He promised Staven he would avenge him! It was the, the last thing he said to him, b-before he d-died...”

Vanyel trailed off uncertainly. He didn’t think he had meant to say that much. It was hard to think about it, though, with Lancir’s pale blue eyes piercing him straight through.

Lancir nodded, as though confirming something. “I see. Staven. You were twins, right?" 

Tylendel nodded shakily.

“You grew up together. You loved each other. And now he’s gone and he’s left a great gaping hole in you, hasn’t he?” 

Tylendel whimpered. “How do you–”

“How do I know? I don’t, completely. I never had a twin, or a bond like that. I won’t pretend to know what it’s like.”

‘Lendel was shaking again. “It’s...like...there’s a hole right, straight, through my heart... It’s cold– I don’t want to talk about it! I don’t want to!” His head jerked up and his voice rose almost to a shriek.

“All right. Let’s not, then. Can we talk about what you still have, just for a moment? You have Gala, right? You know what your bond with her is like. And you’ve got a bond with Vanyel too, a new one. It runs deeper under the surface, so it’s going to be hard to feel. You’ve probably noticed that you’re very in tune with each other, but not necessarily anything else.” He looked over at Vanyel. “Companions can see lifebonds, but most Heralds can’t, not on our own. Another reason why your secret is safe. I’ve, well, had a lot of practice.” He turned back to ‘Lendel. “I want you to try to find it, though, because I think it will help. Vanyel, boy, I want you to think about a really happy time you had together. Try to...this is a bit hard to explain, but can you try to want to tell ‘Lendel about it, but don’t say anything out loud?”

Vanyel nodded. A happy time... He thought of a time when they had been sitting in this room, and he’d been playing the lute and singing for ‘Lendel. The sunlight had been like molten gold. Everything was too beautiful, too full, spilling over, and he had wanted to laugh and cry and dance all at the same time...

Tylendel twitched, then looked up, and his eyes were clearer than they had been in two days. “Oh, Van...”

“You feel it? Good. I want you to remember it’s there. Not just now. Remember you have it to reach for, just like you have Gala. Yes?”

“Y-yes.”

Lancir stared at ‘Lendel for a long minute, silently, and Vanyel felt like the world was melting a little around the edges. 

“Okay,” Lancir said finally. He dragged a hand over his face. “I... Tylendel, I want to talk to you alone for a bit, if that’s okay. Vanyel will be right next door, and if you need him, just call him through the link and he’ll come. You can do that anytime. You can tell him as much or as little as you like later, as well. But I think there might be some things that’ll be easier to say just to me. Is that okay with you?”

Tylendel stared blankly, and finally nodded. He turned a little and flung his arms around Vanyel, clinging to him for a moment like he was the only solid thing in the room, and then let go.

Vanyel stood up and looked uncertainly at Lancir. He felt confused and shaken. “Don’t hurt him,” he said fiercely. “Don’t. Or I’ll...I’ll...”

Lancir smiled – a wide open smile that made him look twenty years younger. “Oh, I know. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but he’s already hurting. Um. Don’t be surprised if you feel a few things through the link. You can come back at any time as well, if you’re worried.”

That seemed to be the best he could ask for. Vanyel nodded jerkily and dragged himself out of the room.

Mardic and Donni were in the sitting room, playing dice. They both looked up as he stumbled over to the sofa and sat down, but neither spoke. Mardic stood up a moment later, went to the sideboard, and poured a glass of wine. He brought it over, gave Vanyel a quick sideways half-hug, handed him the cup, and stepped away.

They sat in silence. Vanyel closed his eyes and paid as much attention as he could to his body and his feelings. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to feel this new link, wouldn’t notice if ‘Lendel did try to call for him, and he couldn’t bear that thought.

A lifebond. Gods, he was lifebonded! It felt almost too huge to think about. Well, there would be plenty of time to think about it later.

Eventually, sinking into a sort of trance, he did notice flashes of feeling that didn’t seem to belong to him. There was a raw grief that was too big to look at, a yawning void that brought tears to his eyes. There was a slow-burning anger, raging quietly below the surface, like a bubbling bath of acid. A few times it rose up hotter, seeming to throw off sparks – then it subsided, leaving only the icy emptiness. 

Then he felt it – like arms reaching for him, like the sun coming up. He leapt up, almost spilling his half-drunk wine, and dodged the furniture to run down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Noon had come and passed hours ago, and they were still in the Queen’s private meeting room. An emergency Council meeting had been called for that evening, but Savil still felt that things were moving too slowly. She had slept only a couple of hours the night before, it was still raining, and every part of her hurt.

She looked up as the door opened, and Lancir, wet and splattered with mud, weaved his way into the room and slumped against the wall, holding his head.

Jaysen was up first. “Lance, are you all right? You look like a cart ran you down.”

The Queen’s Own smiled weakly. “I’ll be all right. Just pushed my Gift a little too hard.” He grimaced. “I’m an old man now. I should know better.”

“The boy?” Elspeth interrupted.

Lancir shrugged. “I think he’ll be all right. I need to go fall on my nose for a few hours, but I should be back on my feet for the Council meeting – there is one, right? Savil, may I speak with you a moment first?”

Savil stood up, trying to ignore the butterflies dancing in her stomach. And how much her back ached. “Of course.”

She followed him out into the hall, and immediately took his arm and pulled it over her own shoulders. “You look like hell,” she said quietly. “Was it that bad?”

“I– Yes. I wish I could tell you all of it, but I can’t.”

She nodded. Lancir had always held himself to a rigid ethical code, in his role as a Mindhealer, and he wouldn’t share what a patient told him in confidence. She could see the sense in that – Healers had the same sort of code – but she knew it was hard on him. Healers could unburden themselves to each other, at least.

“Curse the Lesharas!” he burst out suddenly. “I wish none of this had ever happened! That anyone could do this to a child... They’ve gone and, and pulled out a load-bearing pillar of his mind. And I had to go and pull out another, just to stop him from – I can’t tell you, but I had to use a second-level Truth spell to make him tell me, and I do not feel good about that! I’ve never done that before, Savil. Would’ve said it was wrong... Taver backed me on it, but still.” He took a shuddering breath, let it out. “I think Vanyel’s the only thing holding him together. But…”

“But he’s only a child too, and practically worships ‘Lendel. I know.” She sighed heavily. “And ‘Lendel wants revenge for Staven, because of course he does.”

“Gods! He had half a plan, and, and Vanyel would’ve gone along with it, I think, even against his better judgment, because...well, like you said.”

“Dammit. Damn this to all hells, Lance. I don’t know what to do.”

“I... What we can do, I guess. Bring the Queen’s justice. Stop this thing in its tracks before anyone else dies. A bloody Karsite border war would be simpler!”

Just as they reached Lancir’s quarters, the Death Bell began to ring.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

> Dear Lissa
> 
> I will be traveling out of Haven in a few days. I hope we will be back by Sovvan, but I don’t know. Something really bad happened, Liss. There’s a lot I can’t tell you in a letter, but it’s bad. I will try to pass on a message to you if I can, but we will be a fortnight out of Haven, so I can’t promise.
> 
> I wish you were here now,
> 
> Vanyel
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
>  

“Herald Raina is dead.”

The Council hall was packed, but silent. Herald Keiran’s voice echoed dully through the room.

“We don’t know what killed her. Or who. Even her Companion didn’t have time to see it coming. But since she was on the edge of the Leshara lands, I think we all have a pretty good idea. We’ve redirected Herald Karl – he’ll take the long way around and head to the Frelennye holdings, from the other side. We can’t send him in alone, and no one else is within even two days’ journey.”

“You imply the Lesharas killed her?” a voice shouted out. “I can’t believe–”

Elspeth held up a hand, and the voice cut off. Dead silence.

“I don’t believe that,” Keiran said, quietly, but clearly. “I don’t think even Wester Leshara would dare go that far. But we know they hired a dark mage from OutKingdom. I think we have to assume he was still there.”

“Or some of the creatures he brought?”

“No interruptions, please,” the Queen said pleasantly. Silence.

“We need to send in a larger force,” Keiran went on. “Large enough to fight if we need to. Hopefully a show of force will send this mage running, but we can’t rely on that.” She looked at Jaysen.

He cleared his throat. “It’s a fortnight’s journey by horse. Even on Companion-back, with no baggage, I don’t think any force could make it in under a week – and we’d be tired, which seems ill-advised.”

The Queen nodded, and turned to look at Savil.

She sank down a little in her seat. _Oh, gods_. “You want me to Gate,” she said flatly.

More silence.

“I don’t see another way,” Lancir said finally. “You’re the best one of us for it – I’m not really up to Gating these days, certainly not that distance. And if we let this cauldron cook any longer, we’re only risking more bloodshed.”

“I hate Gating!” Savil muttered – but quietly under her breath, since it wasn’t actually a reason not to. “I’ll need some time to prepare,” she said out loud. “I don’t think my reserves are in good enough shape right now.”

“I think that’s fine,” Lancir said after a moment. “We’ll need to call some of the other Herald-Mages back to Haven, I think, to go with you.” He hesitated. “And I think perhaps you should take Tylendel with you. This will give him more time to get back on his feet.”

“Take him into a possible combat zone! Are you out of your mind?” Savil bit down on the outburst before she could say anything else that she might regret.

Lancir held out his hands, soothingly. “I wasn’t intending you to take him to the Leshara lands. I think you should go straight to the Frelennye Holding, and start getting their people sorted out. We’ll send a Healer with you, in case there are any injuries – and in case any of our people are injured, if there is fighting. We’ll need a base. That seems as good a place as any.” He paused. “I thought we might send Andrel. He’s young and hardy, and I assume the Palace can spare him.”

It was a sop he’d thrown her; Lancir knew about her close friendship with Andy. She glared, refusing to be mollified so easily.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Jaysen said. Traitor, Savil thought. Although she had to admit...they would have had to do this sooner or later. She just hadn’t expected it to be _now._

“I think that’s decided, then,” the Queen said, cementing it. “Let’s work out the details.”

Savil groaned. Details. This was going to take half the night.

 

* * *

 

“No, nononono– Staven! STAVEN! NO!”

Vanyel struggled painfully awake, rolled over, and grabbed for Tylendel’s shoulders. “Hey. Wake up. You’re just dreaming.” His voice came out slurred with exhaustion. “Hey. It’s okay, I’m here...” He had been picking up bits of the nightmare, he realized – the terror and pain had been weaving into his own uneasy dreams, but he hadn’t slept more than a candlemark at a time in nearly three days, and he was worn out.

‘Lendel woke, gasping, and lay blinking at the ceiling. Every candle in the room was blazing – they’d gone through all the spares in the house and Savil had had to requisition more. The other boy rolled over, clutched at him, and started sobbing. _Here we go again_ , Vanyel thought, uncharitably. He pushed the thought away, wary that it would creep through the link between them, and focused on just holding his lover in his arms. He realized after a moment that he was crying, too, although he wasn’t sure if it was from shared pain or simply frustration.

When he managed to glance up at the window, he saw that the sky was already lightening – deep velvety blue, rather than blackness. The rain seemed to have stopped. 

He pulled at ‘Lendel’s shoulder. “Come on, you. Let’s get up for a bit. Gala’s still trampling up the garden outside.”

Earlier, when he’d held a sobbing Tylendel as Lancir sat slumped with his head in his hands, Gala had raced over from Companion’s Field and tried her best to force herself through the garden door. She did not, in fact, fit. He was grateful that she had stopped short of demolishing the wall.

‘Lendel let himself be guided into a sitting position, feet dangling over the side of the bed. Vanyel leaned over the side of the bed to reach the bottom drawer of his chest, and pulled out a warm robe. He draped it over ‘Lendel’s shoulders and pushed his limp arms through the sleeves.

“Stay here, _ashke_. Let me get your cloak.”

As he had half suspected, he found Mardic awake in the living room, huddled in front of the fire with a mug of tea. Donni seemed to be able to sleep through hourly screaming fits just fine, but he didn’t think Mardic was getting much more sleep than he was.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, still blinking and trying not to slur his words. “Got a minute? Rain’s stopped, thought I’d bring ‘Lendel to the garden for a bit.”

Mardic stood up, a little unsteadily. “’Course. How ‘bout I make some tea?” His country accent came out a lot stronger when he was half-asleep.

“Thanks.” Vanyel looked around, and finally just grabbed Savil’s huge winter cloak from next to the door. “Meet you there?”

He staggered back to their room, got the cloak fastened around ‘Lendel’s shoulders, and then pushed the garden door open and dragged the chair by the fire – a simple wooden one, without upholstery – out into the garden, setting it next to the bench. The chair would probably get ruined, but he thought it was less likely that ‘Lendel could manage to fall out of it. Gala, standing beside the flower bushes, raised her head.

“We’re coming out for a bit,” he said. She nodded gracefully. To his surprise, there was another Companion across the path, glowing white in the moonlight, watching them.

He made his way back to the room and met Mardic. Together, they each took one of ‘Lendel’s arms and lifted him to his feet. It was an effort, but they got him out the door and over to the chair.

Mardic looked up. “Huh,” he said vaguely. “Think that’s Yfandes. Wonder what she’s doing all the way out here. Oh – Fortin says she’s friends with Gala, maybe she’s keeping her company.”

“Oh.” Vanyel sagged onto the bench. “Who’s her Herald?”

“No one. Yet. Huh. Fortin says she hasn’t Chosen in ten years. Guess she’s picky.”

Vanyel yawned and sidled over to pull part of the cloak over himself. It might have stopped raining, but it was chilly. “How can you tell them apart?” he said sleepily.

Mardic shrugged. “Never thought about it. G-g-guess it’s something our Companions do for us.” He stifled a huge yawn of his own. “Water must be hot by now. I’ll get that tea.”

Vanyel reached under the cloak and took Tylendel’s cold hand in his own – there was no one awake to see them. Gala had settled down in front of them like the world’s most enormous dog, her head in her Chosen’s lap. She watched him– He blinked. For a moment, it was as though he had seen an image superimposed on her, a young girl with red curls. He rubbed his eyes. _Must be half dreaming_.

Mardic, bundled in his own cloak and a blanket, brought the tea on a tray. He’d thoughtfully brought two mugs for ‘Lendel, one full of his prescribed herb tea – and Vanyel could smell the honey in it. He smiled gratefully, too tired for words.

Mardic shared a corner of his blanket, and Gala’s body radiated heat, warming their feet. ‘Lendel managed to hold his cup without spilling it, which was progress; he rested it on Gala’s forehead, which she tolerated, and which made Mardic chuckle.

They sat like that until the sun rose. Frost sparkled on the grass, quickly thawing into a thousand droplets.

Vanyel must have dozed a little – suddenly Donni was in front of them, wearing two robes on top of each other, yawning. “What are y’all doing out here?” she mumbled. “It’s too early.”

Mardic lifted his head off Vanyel’s shoulder. “Oh. Morning. Is Savil back?”

“No. My Rasha says she stayed with Andrel again.”

Vanyel wiggled his feet, which felt frozen. “We’d best get inside. Looks like more rain.” The sky was already filling with new clouds. “Wish it’d stop.”

“I know.” Mardic stood up and rubbed his eyes. “Hope Savil’s too busy for lessons again today. I’m beat. Come on.”

‘Lendel was deeply asleep. They got him back inside by picking up the chair, all three of them, and carrying it through the door. Gala watched them wistfully – Vanyel wouldn’t have thought a horse could look wistful, but she managed – and then ambled away.

With ‘Lendel bundled up under the covers, Vanyel flopped onto his own side of the bed. His eyes ached, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep now that the sun was up. _I can’t believe Savil wants us to leave in three days – no, two days now._ He wanted to sleep for about a century.

 

* * *

 

“We’re coming.”

Mardic and Donni stood together in the hall, bulging travel packs at their feet, both with their arms crossed.

Savil, who looked like she might have half melted into the sofa, sighed. “No. There’s no need, and it’s too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous?” Donni’s eyes flashed. “If it’s safe enough for ‘Lendel – and Van – it’s safe enough for us.”

Vanyel watched from the table, mechanically eating something or other, Mardic had put it on a plate for him and he hadn’t been paying attention to what. He’d gotten a little more sleep the night before, after Mardic and Donni had offered, or rather insisted, that they would sleep on the floor in ‘Lendel’s room and keep him company. He himself had slept on the floor of Herald Jaysen’s room, although he might as well have taken the bed – Jaysen hadn’t come in until nearly dawn.

“You need us,” Mardic said. “Or you’ll wear yourself out taking care of ‘Lendel–”

“–And make yourself sick,” Donni finished.

“You’re not–”

“Not what?” Donni took a step forwards. “Not trained? We’re most of the way there and we’ll be in a well-protected Keep–”

“–Surrounded by trained guards,” Mardic finished. “We know how to be careful.”

Savil fought a yawn.

“And YOU need to get some sleep!” Donni snapped. “You’re supposed to be building a Gate tomorrow morning. It’s a hard spell even for you.”

Savil looked over at the pile of papers on the side table. “The Council...”

“Can bugger off,” Mardic said calmly. “You should’ve told them to yesterday. Let Lancir stay up all night making last-minute plans. He can afford to wear himself out, he’s not going.” 

Vanyel grimaced. They hadn’t seen Lancir’s face when he dragged himself out after that first session. And he had come back twice since, if only for a short time. Vanyel still felt like Lancir had somehow snapped the last solid part of ‘Lendel’s mind – and he couldn’t help hating him a little for it. ‘Lendel wouldn’t talk about their conversations, and had started crying uncontrollably the one time Vanyel tried to ask, which had dissuaded him from bringing it up again.

He hadn’t brought up revenge once since that day, either – Lancir must have had something to do with that, and he had mixed feelings. It was a relief that ‘Lendel wasn’t pushing to do anything stupid, but it still seemed to him that he had the right to avenge his brother, the right to _want_ to, and that Lancir had done something deeply invasive to him.

As if on cue, they heard a ragged scream from the back room. Vanyel started to rise.

“Finish eating, it’s my turn,” Donni said, and dashed down the hall.

Savil groaned. “At least he’s only got receptive Empathy.” She looked over at Mardic, still standing his ground in the hall. “You’re not coming.”

“Vanyel needs us there,” Mardic said firmly. “Or he’ll never get any sleep.”

Savil turned her head to look at Vanyel, and her face softened a little. He knew he looked terrible – his nose and two black eyes were turning spectacular shades of purple and green.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Don’t make me regret it!”

 

* * *

 

In the end, they didn’t leave until nearly noon the next day. Savil had wanted to make an early start, since they would be arriving a half-day’s ride to the north of their destination; she could only Gate to a place she knew well; but one delay had led to another. Savil made some wry comment about how ‘no plan ever stays on schedule’, which Vanyel thought he recognized as a quote from Seldasen.

They were expected. Several powerful Mindspeakers had relayed the message, and a Herald would be waiting for them at a town that Savil had visited once on circuit. Someone called Herald Karl had made his way safely to the Frelennye Keep, and would be waiting for them there.

It was still raining. Vanyel, wrapped in his cloak, was already damp and fairly miserable. Star wasn’t very happy about it either, but she was happy to see him. The grooms had been exercising her regularly, but he hadn’t ridden her since the night Staven had died.

He hoped it wasn’t raining where they were going, but Savil had muttered darkly that ‘if it’s not, it will be soon enough.’

‘Lendel was wrapped up tight in his own cloak, and firmly belted into his saddle. Hopefully it would be an unnecessary precaution – he was a lot more alert today, he had been able to walk over with them unaided and he’d even been making a little conversation. He watched Savil curiously.

Star pranced nervously. She didn’t understand why they were standing around in the rain. Vanyel patted her neck, and she twisted her head to nuzzle his hand.

There were a dozen Heralds mounted on their Companions behind him, along with Mardic and Donni. He didn’t know any of them. Jaysen was staying behind – Savil said, wistfully, that he had pushed to come but Queen Elspeth had put her foot down about giving up her Seneschal’s Herald.

Savil had made them all stand some distance back from the temple, where she would be making the Gate, whatever that was. She had been standing perfectly still for nearly five minutes, her white hair plastered down in tendrils. Finally, she raised her hands and began to chant, the words muffled by the rain, and he felt the familiar tension pulling tight in his gut. He blinked. The arch of the open door had begun to glow, a clean white light, faint at first but glowing stronger. Then it seemed to ripple, and Savil swayed and caught herself. Vanyel looked away; there was something disturbing about it.

There was a wild rush of light, and he looked back. The whole doorway shone nearly as bright as the noon sun, and a moment later, rather than the dark inside of the temple, he saw a sunny courtyard and a cluster of people looking back at them.

Savil stepped forwards and crossed the threshold. A man in Whites caught and steadied her as her knees buckled. She turned to look back at them.

“Come on! Don’t make me hold this thing any longer than I have to!”

Vanyel nudged Star forwards. “’Lendel, let’s go.”

Gala went through happily enough. Star balked and refused to go near the strange doorway. Embarrassed, Vanyel had to dismount, wait for the others to cross, and coax her through, right after Andrel led his nervous chestnut gelding across.

...There was a moment of unpleasant vertigo, it felt like falling, and he stumbled as he crossed the threshold, feeling a little nauseated. No wonder Star hadn’t wanted to go near the thing. He didn’t blame her!

“That’s everyone? Good.” Savil raised her hands again. With an odd sucking feeling, the Gate vanished, and she collapsed into Andrel’s arms.

Vanyel rushed forwards. “Savil, are you–”

“I’m fine, boy.” She looked pale and drawn, but she pulled herself up to standing. “This is normal. It’s not an easy spell.” She looked around. “Tantras? You’d best go on ahead with the crew bound for the Leshara lands. I need a minute.”

Andrel put his hand on her shoulder, and some colour came back into her cheeks. She smiled tiredly at him. “Thanks.” She looked around again. “Herald Marius? Any chance there’s a place we could sit a little? Inside. There’s going to be a storm.”

The Herald who’d greeted them, who was very tall and pale with hair so blonde it was nearly white, looked up at the sky. “But it was–”

Vanyel looked up. The dome of sky was clear blue, but a bank of clouds was rushing up the horizon. “Trust me,” Savil muttered. “There’s going to be a storm. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is why I hate Gates!”

Satisfied that she was all right, Vanyel returned to Gala’s side. “’Lendel? Looks like we’re going to stop here a little while. You can probably get down.”

The rest of the Heralds left at great speed – Vanyel was amazed by how fast a Companion could move. Herald Marius led them to a bench inside a small gazebo, and a servant brought them cider and a basket of bread and cheese. Sure enough, within ten minutes they heard the first thunder, and within twenty it was raining hard.

Savil only let them rest for a candlemark, though she still looked a little unsteady when she rose.

“Come on! Move! We need to make good time if we want to get there before dark.”

 

* * *

 

The rain slowed them, or at least it slowed Vanyel and Andrel’s horses; the Companions seemed unperturbed; and they reached the Keep well after dark. By that time Vanyel was soaked to the skin and bitterly wishing they had stayed home.

A round, swarthy man in Whites, who must have been Herald Karl, greeted them at the gates, accompanied by several nervous-looking guardsmen. They went straight to the stables, and Vanyel, to his humiliation, needed the stableboy’s help to dismount. Tylendel, somehow, had managed to fall asleep in his saddle, and Gala knelt so they could undo the belts and lift him off. Mardic and Donni helped. They both looked unreasonably chipper, Vanyel thought grumpily. Maybe Companions were more comfortable to ride. His thighs hurt so much he could barely stand.

Somehow they made it to the doors, through rain that was almost too thick to see through. They stopped in the hall just inside, dripping onto the floor.

A man in unfamiliar livery stepped forwards. “Master Tylendel. It’s good to have you back.” He didn’t look like he meant it.

‘Lendel, teeth chattering, draped between Mardic and Vanyel, looked up. “Evening, K-Kris.” He blinked several times, clearly trying to wake up fully. “I’m...sorry. About everything that’s happened. I– I know you c-cared a great deal about my b-brother.”

The man’s face softened. “It was a great loss to all of us.”

Tylendel tried and failed to hide a yawn. “Um. If you don’t mind, Kris, I think I’m worn out for tonight. Would– would it suit you if we b-began sorting this out in the morning?”

The man bowed a little. “Wasn’t expecting anything else, sir. You’ve had a hard ride in bad weather.” He moved aside, and a pretty, soft-faced girl stepped forwards. “Alisha here will show you to your room.”

“Thank you.” Tylendel nodded, and then the strength seemed to flow out of him, and his weight nearly took Vanyel and Mardic both to the floor. Andrel rushed over, helped them steady him, and then rested his hand on Tylendel’s forehead for a moment. 

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “Vanyel, I’ll take a turn.”

Vanyel gratefully let Andrel step in and take Tylendel’s arm over his shoulder. It was a lot easier for him – he was taller, and solidly built.

He was surprised when another maid, an older woman with a comforting, motherly face, tried to take him and Savil off in a different direction. “Ma’am, sir, the guest rooms are this way.”

He looked uncertainly at Savil. “I...”

Savil must have guessed his question; she raised her hand. “Give us a moment, please.”

The woman bowed and stepped back.

“I want to stay with him,” Vanyel whispered. “But– They know ‘Lendel’s _shay’a’chern,_ they’ll guess... It could back to my father, couldn’t it?”

She nodded. “It could. No, it will, sooner or later. But...” Her face hardened. “I’m minded to say I’m done worrying about your bloody father. I want you with him, Van. He needs you. This place doesn’t hold good memories for him.”

“Then I’m willing to risk it.” He was surprised how unafraid he felt. “Um. Does Andrel know?”

Savil looked sheepish. “He guessed days ago, asked me about it. Don’t worry, he’s not like Jaysen, he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with your relationship at all. Though Jaysen would keep your secret anyway, if he knew, which he doesn’t.”

Vanyel winced. So Herald Jaysen would disapprove? It was surprising how much that hurt, the reminder that people thought the way he was wrong, even though he had known it already.

And Savil had kept it a secret from him even though the Herald had to be one of her closest friends.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she patted his shoulder absently. “Good lad. I’ll take care of Withen if he tries to pull anything. Go on, then.” She pointed to Andrel’s retreating back.

Vanyel ran to catch up. He ignored the little maid’s confused, then sly, look.

A few minutes later, with ‘Lendel shivering in his arms under two layers of blankets, he thought that no matter what happened, he didn’t regret this choice at all.

Andrel squatted next to the bed, wrapped in a borrowed robe. He hadn’t said anything when Vanyel had climbed into the bed, there hadn’t even been any knowing looks. “I wish we could’ve waited longer,” he said unhappily. “This was damn hard on him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s feverish again in the morning.” He stood up. “Well, lad, come get me if you need anything. I’m two rooms down.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

The storm had worn itself out overnight, and to his surprise, Vanyel slept in well past the dawn. He woke up warm and comfortable, if very stiff and sore. The bed was a little too small for two people, but that just made it cozy, he thought sleepily, running his hands through ‘Lendel’s hair.

–He heard a giggle, and looked up to see a chambermaid staring at him. She saw him looking and darted out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Cold fear pierced his chest, waking him up all the way. Damn it all, half the keep would be whispering about them by now. _Gods, what was I thinking?_ Well, clearly he hadn’t been thinking, now Father was going to find out sooner or later and then–

He wrenched his panicked thoughts to a stop. No help for it now. And Savil had said she would stand up for him. He didn’t know if he trusted her to, but…well, it was what it was.

‘Lendel lifted his head a moment later, woken by the slamming door. For a moment he looked like his old self, his face open and free, a slow smile creeping across his lips as he reached to brush a lock of hair back from Vanyel’s face. Then he looked around, and frowned.

“Oh dammit,” he said sleepily. “I’m back here...and you’re here... And I bet the servants are whispering already. Why didn’t you stay in a guest room?”

“And let you wake up alone from those nightmares?” Vanyel pulled him close, still trying to push down his own doubts. “I couldn’t.”

Tylendel twined his arms around his back. “I don’t remember having nightmares last night. That’s nice.”

“Oh, trust me, you did. One or two, anyway. You went back to sleep pretty easy, though. Mostly you just woke me up.”

Tylendel snorted. “I must’ve been worn out. Honestly, I barely remember last night. I don’t think I even noticed you were here.”

“I’m that forgettable, huh?” He stretched – and groaned as his sore muscles protested. “Well, I think it’s halfway through the morning. Want to get up?”

“Hmm... Not quite yet.” He chuckled. “If they’re whispering already...might as well give them something to really whisper about!”

 

* * *

 

They made their way out to breakfast – or lunch, really – quite a bit later. ‘Lendel had needed help to dress, and seemed surprised at how weak he still was. In the hallway, though, he refused to lean on Vanyel’s arm, and made his own unsteady way.

The dining hall was empty, but they found Savil sitting in the kitchen, talking to Andrel and Herald Karl. Mardic and Donni were sitting at the other end of the table, holding hands quietly, entirely wrapped up in each other.

“Morning, lovebirds,” Savil said cheerfully. “Tea?”

Vanyel helped ‘Lendel sit at the bench, and lowered himself carefully down next to him; his thighs were not particularly happy with him. “You look happy,” he said.

Savil shrugged. “Good news. The others made it in safely; they’ve had time to search the lands some, and no sign of any mage or any Pelagirs monstrosities. They have Wester Leshara under guard, and they put the Truth Spell on him – it sounds like he didn’t know the specifics of this plan, but he did send his cousin Evan out to hire a mage. He may not face execution, but he’ll certainly be removed from his position as Lord Holder, and if they get orders from the Queen to interrogate him further, which I’m sure they will...well, we’ll see. Unfortunately, he doesn’t actually know where dear Cousin Evan is hiding, but they’ve got a dozen Heralds searching the entire area, and they’re working through the armsmen with the Truth Spell, so we’ll find him sooner or later.”

Tylendel nodded. His expression was tight, controlled, but Vanyel could feel his frustration and bitterness, hot and pulsing. “I really, really hope they do find him guilty enough to kill him. He deserves worse.” He took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “But...I suppose I could settle for complete humiliation.”

Savil shrugged. “I know, lad. Well, in less happy news, it may be hard to find a new Lord Holder for the Lesharas. It’s starting to look like every one of the brothers and cousins is just as committed to this feud.” She looked up. “There will be plenty of time to discuss this endlessly later, but... ‘Lendel, any thoughts on what we should do with your people?”

Tylendel shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Some of my cousins are good enough men, but...I wager none of them would be ready to lay down this feud either. Not after what happened to Stav.”

Vanyel hesitantly raised his hand. “I– I hate to say this, and it still doesn’t seem like a good idea exactly, but...the settlement Evan Leshara proposed, poisonous snake that he is, might have something to it.” He looked over at ‘Lendel. “No marriage to any Lesharas, of course! But, I figure the women in your family might be a little less bloody-minded.” He shrugged. “What do you think?”

Savil looked sharply at him. Tylendel, somewhat to his surprise, didn’t seem upset, only thoughtful.

“Huh. I– If I had a sister like yours, I wouldn’t think twice about it! I’m... Honestly, I don’t know any of my female cousins very well. I’m not sure if any of them would be up to it. And I’m not sure if the male cousins would stand for it. But...”

“They’d stand for it if the Queen ordered it,” Savil muttered. “Um. It’s worth considering. And if Elspeth were willing to part with one of her more experienced clerks, to help run the estate...”

Herald Karl leaned forwards. “There’s precedent for it. I don’t remember the ruling exactly, but one of the clerks in the archives could probably find a dozen past examples.”

Tylendel took Vanyel’s hand. “Hey. That was a clever thought. Thank you.”

Vanyel felt warmth spread through him. “I’m glad.”

“There’s another thing,” Savil said – quietly, a little awkwardly. “I– We need to bury your brother.”

“What?”

“They found his body, ‘Lendel. We’re bringing him home.”

 

* * *

 

They buried Staven Frelennye the next day, at noon, under a weak autumn sun. Herald Tantras and Herald Eron brought his body from where he had been found, on the edge of the forest that lay to the east of the Leshara and Frelennye lands.

Tylendel wanted to see his face, and they looked dubiously at him, but levered the top from the coffin. There wasn’t much smell – Savil muttered that someone must have thought to lay a preservation spell. His body was wrapped in a rough blanket, hiding his wounds, but his face was uncovered, a little puffy, intact except for a few scratches and a gash running from cheekbone to ear. ‘Lendel looked for a long time.

“Still think you’re better looking,” Vanyel quipped, and ‘Lendel smacked him, but he laughed – laughter that turned quickly to tears.

They laid him to rest beside his parents in the family graveyard, and there was a simple ceremony that Vanyel didn’t remember at all, because he spent the whole time holding Tylendel, and no one whispered, not right then.

Someone sang a sad, lilting song, and they knelt and threw flowers over the coffin, and then dirt over that, until there was only a pile of earth. One of the gardeners brought in the piece of sod he had cut away, and replaced it, and then placed a simple headstone, and then it was over.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe these people!” ‘Lendel said, two days later, as he leafed through a stack of reports. “My brother’s dead, and – and they want me to look over his accounts! I don’t know anything about accounting!”

“I can look at the reports,” Vanyel offered. “I had that class.”

A few minutes later. “I don’t think your brother was very good at figuring.”

Laughter. “I’m not surprised! He never liked books, or lessons. Did I tell you about the time...”

There had been a lot of times. ‘Lendel still tended to start crying halfway through every story, but Vanyel thought it must help him to remember Staven.

“And they want to talk about Harvestfest,” ‘Lendel muttered a candlemark later, as he leafed through a list of names. “Who cares? No one wants to celebrate.”

“It’s not just about celebration, though, right? It’s... My father used to hold remembrance for the dead.”

“Well – I don’t want to remember with anyone else. Done enough of that already. I would rather just be with you.”

Vanyel glanced over at him. His face was calm and focused. “That sounds fine,” he said finally. “I’d like that well enough. Your family is tiring.”

“Aren’t they? And the maids all flirting with you even though they know about us! Gods, they even flirt with me. They never did that before.”

Vanyel shrugged. “Did you grow your hair longer? Maybe they like that.”

He laughed. Oh, it was good to hear him laugh again! “Maybe. But they... They don’t like me and they don’t trust me. Figure they still think I’m cursed...”

Vanyel shook his head. “I – I don’t think so, ‘Lendel. I’ve been watching them... Honestly, I think they’re a little scared of you. Most of them have never even seen a Herald-Mage at a distance, and here you are, wielding uncanny power. And yet you’re one of them. You’d be the heir if you weren’t Chosen.”

“You think so?” Tylendel shook his head, disbelievingly, his hair falling across his face. “I don’t know, Van. It still must make me look pretty pathetic, when I run out of a meeting crying. Which I can’t seem to stop doing, it’s awful. Someone says something about Stav and it catches me unawares and I just...” He gulped “I miss him. Everything here reminds me of him.”

“I know. But…still, I think maybe it helps them trust you. You’ve come back and you’re all grown up – I think you’ve been really good in some of those meetings. They can see how much you loved him. And, whatever else you could say about your brother, I think all his people loved him. The armsmen, the servants…” He might not have been paying much attention at the funeral, but he did remember how many of the maids had wept for him. 

‘Lendel shrugged. “Yeah. That was Staven. He could make anyone want to follow him. The things he used to talk me into... Did I tell you about the time–”

 

* * *

 

Vanyel was sitting in the kitchen when Mardic found him, staring blankly at a meat roll in his hand. ‘Lendel was asleep; even though he was stronger every day, he still didn’t have much stamina and needed to take a lot of naps.

“Heya, Van.” Mardic paused a few paces away. “Can I?”

He just nodded, not bothering to speak.

Mardic sat down, heavily, and let his head fall into his hands.

It took Vanyel a few moments to notice that Mardic wasn’t behaving as usual. “Mardic, what’s wrong?”

The trainee looked up. “Donni and I had a fight. She’s stormed off to cool down.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I can still feel her simmering, though. I hate this!”

“I know–” I know what you mean, he had been about to say, but he cut himself off, no one except Lancir knew that he and ‘Lendel were lifebonded. “I know that must be really hard,” he said instead, awkwardly.

Mardic pushed a bit of hair behind his ear. “It’s fine. She’ll be back in half a candlemark. I’ll never understand how she can be furious one moment and ready to kiss and make up the next.” He shrugged. “I hold grudges.”

“Mmm.” Vanyel didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been spending much time with Mardic lately, but the other boy had his own life, didn’t he? Not everything revolved around ‘Lendel. “What were you fighting about?”

A snort of laughter escaped the other boy. “Ha! Donni was climbing around on the roof and Savil caught her.”

Vanyel looked blankly at him. “I would’ve thought she’d be fighting with Savil, then?”

“Well, that too. Savil gave her a good dressing-down and she ran off to sulk. She’s been really bored, I think. Nowhere to practice magic, since there isn’t a Work Room here. She needs some way to burn off her energy, and Savil won’t let us leave the grounds.” He rubbed at his jaw. “I was upset with her. I don’t like it when she does dangerous things. She doesn’t like it when she thinks I’m telling her what she can and can’t do.”

“Oh.” That made sense, Vanyel thought. “Um, I mean, she’ll have to go places that are dangerous, when you’re both in Whites.”

Mardic nodded. “Reckon you’ve been thinking about that too, haven’t you? With ‘Lendel. I can’t lie, it bothers me. But they won’t separate us, we’ll do circuits together. And even if we have to go into battle, it’ll be because Valdemar needs us. Because it’s the right thing. Not just for fun!”

He nodded slowly. And that made all the difference for Mardic, didn’t it? Because he was going to be a Herald, and that seemed to be how all Heralds thought. For the good of the Kingdom, and never mind the personal danger to them.

Why was that? Did the Companions only Choose people who were like that, who were willing to make those sacrifices – or did they _change_ people? It still galled him, that he didn’t _know_ whether this was what ‘Lendel really wanted – deep down, for himself.

 

* * *

 

Lissa Ashkevron stood her ground, even as Lord Corey stared her down. She had been practicing her own cold stares – she had seen it work wonders for the other swordmaidens, especially when any man tried to bother them.

“I have a right to know,” she said firmly. She held up the letter in my hand. “My brother’s caught up in it, I’m sure. I have to know if he’s in danger.”

Trevor Corey sighed heavily. “This isn’t a public matter, girl.”

“Well, still. If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to ask every servant what rumours they’ve heard and triangulate from there. Everyone’s heard something about it. What the hells is happening at Westrel Keep?”

Lord Corey groaned and massaged his forehead. “You’re as stubborn as your father ever was, girl. Gods! Well, since I don’t know what goddamned rumours are making the rounds, and I don’t want you running off and doing anything stupid, I suppose I have to tell you. But nothing you hear leaves this room, understood?”

Lissa nodded solemnly. “Of course, sir. I understand.”

He began to pace, the only visible sign of nerves that he ever showed. It must be bad, Lissa thought, with a sinking feeling in her gut. Her master and teacher was not easily perturbed.

“There was a blood feud,” he said after a moment. “Between the Frelennye and Leshara families. I suppose you wouldn’t have heard about it; it’s a long way away. But, looks like one of the Leshara cousins found a mage to take the feud a step further.”

“A Herald? But–”

“No, girl, not a Herald-Mage. Some blood-path mage from outKingdom, I would wager. In any case, the Frelennye Lord Holder was assassinated. He was only seventeen – his father died a year or two back and he inherited. Well, now he’s dead, and his only sibling is a trainee Herald-Mage, the gods only know who they’ll put in Lord Staven’s place. As a bonus, a Herald was killed when they sent her in to investigate.” He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “It’s bad business, girl, but I don’t see how it could have anything to do with your brother.”

“He said–” Her mind was racing. “This Herald-Mage trainee. One of my Aunt Savil’s students?”

Lord Corey blinked. “I... Yes. I do remember hearing that. What does that have to... Oh. I see.”

“My brother was fostered with Savil,” Liss said stiffly. “He sent me a letter. Said he was leaving Haven and wasn’t sure when he’d be back, and that something bad had happened.” She resisted the urge to wring her hands; she had to learn to better maintain her composure. “I figure Savil’s gone with her trainee to sort things out with the Frelennyes, and – for some goddamned reason, she took Vanyel with her. I can’t think why.” She wanted to bite something. “He could be in danger!”

“Not likely, girl. They sent a dozen Heralds to the site, and we’ve dispatched a company of the Guard to relieve them. I’m sure it’s sorted out by now.”

“A dozen? They must’ve stripped half the circuits bare!” There weren’t all that many Heralds, really, and Lord Corey had access to their deployments.

“Strange times, eh? Well, your brother will have a good story for you when you see him, I’m sure.”

Lissa barely managed not to stamp her foot. “Dammit! I– I can’t sit here when he might be... Sir, I want permission to leave early for Haven.”

Lord Corey’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But he’s not there.”

“I know. I haven’t got a chance of reaching where he is. But I can make good time to Haven if I’m on my own – I could be there by Sovvan, I think. If Savil’s gone with them, she’ll be in contact with the capital. So I’ll be able to find out more. I don’t need a guard, you know I can take care of myself.” She tried for a cheeky grin. “I’ll go anyway, even if you say no.”

His eyebrows rose. “Then why are you asking?”

She shrugged. “Because I would rather not disobey you, and you might say yes.”

There was a long silence.

“Fine,” Lord Corey snapped. “But only because you’ll make a damned nuisance of yourself otherwise. And I will give you two armsmen, because I don’t fancy explaining it to your father if you meet bandits on the road.”

Lissa hid a smile. She had read him right. “You know I could handle bandits,” she said, grinning. “They wouldn’t know what hit them.”

“None of your cheek. And you’d best get out of my sight before I come to my senses and change my mind.”

 

* * *

 

It was the morning of Sovvan, and the weather was the best it had been since they had arrived – a little cool and breezy, but the sun was out and the sky was a clear, lovely blue. The exact colour of Gala’s eyes, Vanyel thought.

He and ‘Lendel were sitting outside, in a small gazebo, enjoying the pleasant weather. They weren’t there just for pleasure, though. A young woman, about ‘Lendel’s age, sat on the bench across from them, knees primly together, arms folded neatly in her lap. She had his turned-up nose and strong, square chin, surrounded by cheeks as round as apples and a cascade of brown ringlets. 

‘Lendel looked at the creased paper in his lap. “Cousin Vanissa, is it?”

“Yes, Master Tylendel.” Her voice was very proper, perfectly controlled, but her dark eyes had depths to them. “I’m your uncle Enar’s eldest.” She smiled a little. “You can call me Van, everyone does.”

Tylendel snorted, clearly trying not to laugh, and glanced over at Vanyel. “You can’t be Van. He’s Van.” The smile broke out. “How about Nissy?”

The woman made a face – then, her polite facade broken, she started laughing. “I thought you didn’t remember me! Gods, it took me years to get out from under that nickname.” She grinned. “Foiled. I agree it’d be awful confusing if we were both Van, though. Call me Niss, then. Nissy is a little girl’s name.”

Vanyel watched and tried not to smile; he liked the young woman, and ‘Lendel seemed more relaxed than he had among any of his other cousins.

“So,” ‘Lendel said after a beat. “Tell me honestly – really do, I can tell when people are lying – how do you feel about the feud?”

She pursed her plump lips. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but honestly? The whole thing was stupid from start to finish. Wester Leshara is a snake, we all know that, but your brother.... Well, he had a good heart, but he didn’t show much sign of brains where this was concerned!” She folded her arms. “There. I’ve told you what I think. Do you hate me now?”

Vanyel glanced over, worried. He was relieved to see that Tylendel was only smiling sadly.

“No, Niss. Could be you’ve more sense than either of us.” He gazed steadily at her – somehow, his eyes reminded Vanyel of Savil. It was impressive and a little creepy. “Tell me, Niss, what’s your opinion of your father?”

She blinked, wet her lips, appearing nervous for the first time. “I– I guess you could say that...”

Vanyel watched, impressed, as his lover questioned her – gently, so it seemed more like a conversation than an interrogation. He spent half a candlemark with her, longer than he had spent with any of his aunts, uncles, or cousins yet, and she was smiling, if a little bemused, as she left.

‘Lendel’s watched her go, then rubbed a hand across his face; when he took it away, his features seemed to sag. “Van, I don’t think I can do another.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve let Savil know. Ha. She says she wasn’t expecting me to get through three today! What do you think of her, anyway? My cousin, I mean.”

Vanyel shrugged. “I like her. Better than any of the others.” They had sat apart on the bench for propriety’s sake, but now he shuffled over and wrapped his arm around ‘Lendel’s waist. “I thought it was just my family that was crazy.”

Laughter. “No, I reckon all families are. At least I don’t have quite as much a menagerie of siblings and cousins. I think I’d have gone mad.”

“More than you already are?” Van said lightly. ‘Lendel smacked him, and then kissed him.

“I couldn’t do this without you. You know that, right?” He took a deep breath, let it out. “Think I need to rest before I can face the bloody memorial tonight. Savil says I need to show my face for at least a candlemark.”

Vanyel offered him a hand, though he didn’t really need the help anymore, and they made their way through the gardens towards the manor. “How do you do it?” he said after a moment. “You’re amazing with them, really. Saying all the right things. Even when they talk about your brother.”

“Ha. Funny you say that.” ‘Lendel kissed the top of his head. “I pretend I’m you. You when you’d just arrived in Haven. I put on a mask and I don’t...I don’t let any of it touch me.” He shuddered slightly. “They don’t need to know how I’m really feeling.”

His voice was light, casual, but there was so much pain lurking under it... Vanyel closed his eyes and felt for the spot deep in his chest where the bond between them lived. For the hundredth time, he brushed the gaping void, the cold, infinite emptiness...

“We’ll get through this,” he said fiercely. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

They reached the door, and ‘Lendel held himself steady with one hand on the wall while Vanyel opened it. They made their way through the empty, echoing hall to their room. It seemed small and stuffy. Vanyel felt a pang of homesickness – not for his childhood room at Forst Reach, that would never be home again, but for their own room with the garden door, the bed that was big enough to fit both of them, the window that would let in a world of light...

‘Lendel, guessing his thoughts again, squeezed him close for a moment. “I know, Van. I can’t wait to leave this place behind. But. Duty, you know...”

Vanyel winced. The word only reminded him of Father, and the whole bottomless swamp of expectations and responsibilities and disappointed looks that lay in that direction. He knew he was pushing it off into the future, trying to ignore it to focus on the present, and even if that seemed like it really was the right choice...

‘Lendel glanced at him, confusion and curiosity warring with the exhaustion that was clear on his face. Vanyel shook his head. He didn’t feel like trying to explain.

He had hoped to talk more, but ‘Lendel, once he was horizontal, fell asleep in seconds. Rubbing at the back of his neck, which ached with unreleased tension, Vanyel stood by the fire for a moment. He was tired, but not sleepy – he had never learned to sleep in the daytime.

 _I’ll go for a ride; that should work out some of these nerves._ Savil had asked them not to leave the grounds, but he thought it couldn’t do any harm if he just rode around the gardens for a bit.

Savil wasn’t in the kitchen, where he usually found her, so he shrugged and went off to the stables. The stableboy on duty, a lad of fourteen or so who was clearly unused to his new gangly height, helped him saddle Star.

“She’s a sweet one,” he said, a little shyly. “She must really trust you. My master says you took her through a Gate, whatever that is, and that most beasts won’t stand for that.”

He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “She wasn’t too happy.”

He felt better as soon as he was riding, with the wind in his hair and no one watching him or whispering. ‘Lendel tried to make a joke of it, but he really was tired of it.

He knew the grounds fairly well by now. Savil had been encouraging ‘Lendel to take regular, short rides with Gala, and they had explored the fruit orchard, the ornamental garden, the vegetable garden, the small family chapel...

He liked the orchard best, and how it blended slowly into the woods behind it, woods that eventually became the same band of forest that stretched all the way through to the Leshara lands. At some point in the past, it would have been shared between the two holdings for hunting and firewood, much like the wood near Forst Reach. It grew wilder than that forest, possibly because the local people had been staying out of it once the feud heated up, but it felt tamer. Vanyel poked at why. There was none of the strange fear he had felt crossing that forest back home.

He blinked as his mind made a sudden connection. _It’s like when ‘Lendel gets angry. I figure it felt like magic._

He’d have to ask Savil about that. In the meantime, there was no hostile magic here. He and Star picked their way around the orchard, treading on a crisp carpet of fallen leaves, the trees all red and gold and half-denuded. He felt his body loosen and relax; it was like there was a space opening up in his head. He had spent precious little time alone since they had arrived here.

Random thoughts flitted through his mind. The chapter they had been covering in History last week. He would probably have missed too much to catch up with the current class. Maybe Savil would let him have a tutor. Savil... He thought about asking her a question that had floated vaguely in the back of his head for some time – why were there were Heralds and Herald-Mages, when the Heralds had such a wide variety of Gifts. Mindspeech, Fetching, Empathy, Foresight, Farsight – come to think of it, many of the Heralds and trainees with the Mage-gift had other Gifts as well. Why didn’t they call them Herald-Mindspeakers and Herald-Foreseers? Lancir had the MindHealing Gift... _Huh, I wonder if Companions ever Choose a regular Healer. Or someone with the Bardic Gift._ He’d never heard of it if so.

He leaned back in the saddle and stretched, his back popping. _I need to get more exercise. I’ve been missing weapons training. Lord Oden will eat me alive if I come back out all out of shape._ Mardic and Donni weren’t getting their regular lessons either; there was no Work Room in the Keep. Savil thought that ‘Lendel might not be ready to resume his mage-lessons for months...

He noticed that Star had stopped, right on the edge of the wood. She had her head down and she was eagerly cropping a patch of broad-bladed grass that had someone survived the first frosts. They were further out than he’d realized, past the orchard, in a little meadow by a tiny pond and a stand of young beech trees. It was a pretty enough spot to spend a candlemark or so in, he decided, and it ought to be safe enough, after nearly a week of Heralds and guardsmen searching the forest for intruders. He slid down from Star’s saddle and went to sit under a smallish willow tree, with branches that drooped almost into the pond. He sat and let his head fall back against the trunk, his thoughts drifting.

–A snapping twig was all the warning he got. He was halfway to his feet, eyes flying open, when a powerful arm clamped around his neck from behind, and he felt himself lifted half off the ground. He kicked wildly backwards – his boot connected, and he heard a grunt of pain, but the arm stayed firm over his windpipe. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t get enough air, and then another hand was there, slapping a moist, sweet-smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. Somewhere nearby, Star was squealing in protest. He kicked again, and jabbed backwards and up with one elbow while his other hand grabbed at the arm choking him. But it was too late, his thoughts were going soft, his vision slowly narrowing. _Must be a drug_ , he thought vaguely as he slid towards unconsciousness. _Wish I’d had more hand-to-hand training..._ Everything went dark.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Tylendel woke from uneasy dreams and rolled over, throwing the blanket aside; the room was far too warm. He lay for a moment, trying to figure out from the light what time it was, whether he had to get up now... He didn’t want to. But the shadows stretched long and thin across the wall, it had to be late in the afternoon, and there was the stupid Harvest festival at sundown...

_Fear!_

He sat up abruptly. Something was wrong. Where was Vanyel? He was alone in the room. Van had been there when he fell asleep, he thought, but he must have gotten bored. Rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up fully, he racked his brain – had the other boy had said anything about going somewhere?

_Fear! Pain!_

Something jolted through him and he found himself on his feet, his heart racing. Something was definitely wrong. The feelings were coming from deep in his chest – from the link between him and Van.

He made it to the door and out into the hallway. Vanyel was in trouble; he knew that with a soul-deep certainty. _:Gala:_ he called. _:Where’s Van? Have you seen him?:_

 _:What?:_ Her mindvoice was sleepy, and he caught a feeling of sun-warmed grass. She must have been dozing in the paddock behind the stables. _:What’s wrong, love?:_

_:Van’s in trouble! He– I don’t know, but something’s wrong! Where is he?:_

He felt her dawning worry. _:I don’t know, I haven’t seen him:_

Tylendel paused for breath at the end of the hall. Damn it, he was still weak. _:Savil!:_ he Mindcalled.

She answered a beat later, her mindvoice irritable and unfocused, clearly interrupted in the middle of some task. _:What?:_

_:I don’t know where Vanyel is and I think he’s in trouble. Gala hasn’t seen him. Have you?:_

Amusement mixed with frustration. _:I’m sure he’s fine:_

Tylendel ground his teeth. He should have guessed Savil would be dismissive. _:Can you help me look for him, then? I – I have a really bad feeling:_ He hadn’t mentioned their apparent lifebond to Savil, and wasn’t sure if Lancir would have; he didn’t want to try to explain it now.

 _:All right, lad. I’ll check... Oh. I just asked Mardic, he saw him riding about on the grounds hours ago. Thought he had my permission, which he didn’t! We should try to find him. He could have hurt himself, or gotten lost:_ Her annoyance was leaking through, but no alarm.

 _:Thank you, aunt:_ He took a ragged breath and kept moving, in a staggering run. _:Gala, meet me at the front of the Garden?:_

Savil, bless her, had recruited Mardic and Donni and a handful of servants by the time he reached Gala’s side. She was saddled and bridled; obviously, the stableboy on duty knew about Companions, that they weren’t ordinary horses and would come and go as they pleased. She had to kneel before he could mount.

He had been too busy in transit to attend to any feelings through the bond. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus. _Center and ground…_ He sensed, faintly, a complex tangle of frustration, anxiety, and physical pain. Biting his lip, he tried to imagine Vanyel there, tried to imagine reaching for him, hands outstretched… A moment later, he felt an answering pull, along with a wave of relief and something else he wasn’t sure of. He tried to figure out if the pull was coming from one direction or another, but if that sense was there, he was too distracted to find it.

 _:We’re spreading out:_ he heard Savil in his head, broadsending. _:I’ll take the north; ‘Lendel, you take west, okay?:_

Tylendel let Gala guide him in his assigned direction, trying to remember to breathe and pushing down the fear that surged in him. He couldn’t afford to be afraid right now, had to focus…

 _:!:_ Savil’s wordless Mindcall of alarm nearly knocked him over. _:Oh, gods… ‘Lendel, get over here now:_

He wasn’t sure where ‘here’ was, but Gala knew somehow, or maybe she was talking to Kellan – she reared, turned, and broke into a gallop. He clutched at the pommel of the saddle, fighting to keep his seat. Manicured bushes and flowerbeds rushed by, then trees – he closed his eyes, dizzy, trusting Gala to move safely through the orchard.

When he opened his eyes, Gala was slowing to a stop in a small meadow. He recognized it, although it seemed smaller than he remembered; he and Staven had played here as children. It was right on the edge of the woods. There was a tiny pond, and a grove of young trees just past it. Willow branches trailed on the surface of the water.

Savil was crouching over something on the ground, Kellan standing guard over her. He half-fell from Gala’s back and grabbed at her as his knees threatened to buckle. When he saw what she was looking out, he let out a low moan as the bottom seemed to fall out of his gut.

Vanyel’s beloved mare lay sprawled on her side, throat cut, a pool of dried blood staining the dead leaves under her body. There was no sign of his lover. His knees did fail him, then, and he sagged to the ground.

Savil stood up briskly. There was absolutely no expression on her face. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle,” she said, toneless. “There’s a trail, though. Whoever took him was careful, but not careful enough.” She pointed. Tylendel didn’t see anything, but he wasn’t surprised. She had learned woods-tracking from with the Tayledras, and he doubted any other Herald was her equal.

“He’s alive,” he said faintly, more to himself than to his teacher. “I’d know otherwise…”

Savil glanced at him, said nothing, and looked away. “I’ve asked Mardic to alert the armsmen. We’ll start searching immediately. And Herald Tantras is still at Westrel Keep; I was able to reach him. He still has half a company of the Guard there, he’ll organize a search as well.” She sagged against one of the slender trees, looking suddenly exhausted. “I… We’d best gather a party here, but I don’t want to wait too long. I can follow the trail in daylight, I think, but it’ll be dark in a candlemark.”

She sounded so calm. He would have hated her for that, if it was true, but his Empathy was picking up on a deep current of anger-fear-guilt.

“It’s got to be the Lesharas,” she said wearily. “Which means Evan, because Tran has the rest of them good as confined to the Keep. So this will lead us to him.” Her eyes closed for a moment. “Oh, good. Mardic and Donni are almost here, with some armsmen. I think we should probably go ahead, us four, we’ll follow the trail if we can and leave the rest to coordinate a wider search. I’d rather have backup, but I don’t want to delay any further, and our Companions can move faster and more quietly than the guardsmen or their horses.”

Tylendel struggled to his feet, hating his weakness, every nerve and sinew in him screaming to go, move, now. _:Gently, Chosen:_ Gala said to him as he dragged himself back into the saddle. _:Keep your wits about you. They can’t have gone far, and you know he’s alive and conscious:_

Remembering the bond, he closed his eyes and tried to block out the world around him and his own racing heart. He couldn’t feel much – there was a background of confusion and fear, but nothing more specific. Focusing as hard as he could, he tried to ‘send’ an image of the little meadow, like he would have to Staven. If any of it got through, Van would know they were searching for him and had gotten this far. He imagined wrapping his arms around the other boy’s smaller body, lifting him, carrying him to safety. 

…And then hunting down whoever had taken him, and killing them. Preferably slowly and painfully, and he didn’t care if a Herald ought not to do that.

Donni raced into the clearing, Mardic just after her. She looked ready to chew nails and spit them out. Mardic’s anger was less obvious in his face, but Tylendel knew it was there.

“Go,” Savil said, and then went.

It was easy enough going at first. He didn’t know how Savil could follow the trail, but she could and did, and the four of them made extra effort to trample down the dead leaves and foliage. Donni had been especially clever; she must have stuffed an entire armful of plain linen handkerchiefs into her saddlebag, and she tossed one to the ground every minute or two, marking their passage.

They moved deeply into the wood. It was already quite dark under the canopy of trees, and a fog was creeping in. The forest seemed too quiet, with no birdsong or small animals scurrying through the undergrowth. It felt wrong.

Their progress slowed as the light failed. Savil ended up dismounting from Kellan’s back. She made a tiny mage-light, keeping it cupped in her hand, and aimed it at the ground and the tree trunks. They moved slowly, but they hadn’t lost the trail.

Tylendel’s hands ached from clutching the reins. There was a leaden weight in his stomach, and the sour taste of fear in his mouth – but the anger outweighed the fear, more and more as the minutes passed. If Evan Leshara had hurt Vanyel, if he’d even touched a hair on his head, he would – he wasn’t sure yet, but something awful. Something even worse than what he’d been starting to plan before Lancir arm-twisted him out of it.

He had resented that bitterly at first, but could find it in him to be grateful for it, now. The Queen’s Own was right, he would probably have gotten himself killed, and maybe Vanyel too, and, gods, he couldn’t believe he would have been willing to take that risk – even a promise to his dying brother wasn’t worth _that._

But right now Van was alone, frightened, in pain, and he couldn’t bear that.

 _:Gently:_ Gala urged again, but the rage was only building. And it gave him strength – borrowed strength, he knew, the product of desperation, but he was grateful for it.

Then they lost the trail.

It was completely dark save for Savil’s little mage-light, and fog had come in thick by now – unnaturally thick? After standing in the space between two enormous redwoods for nearly five minutes, Savil finally sighed and stepped back.

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I’d rather not split up, but I don’t know where to go from here.”

Tylendel let his head sink towards Gala’s neck as despair washed over him.

“I suppose if we split up, I could go this way with ‘Lendel–”

A half-seen shape exploded out of the fog just in front of him, all-too-visible claws raking at Gala’s side. She reared up, whinnying desperately. Donni screamed. Mardic leapt forwards on Fortin’s back, shielding Savil while she scrambled back onto Kellan. Someone had thrown up a much brighter mage-light, but it didn’t really help in the fog. They could barely see each other.

Another creature lunged at Kellan from behind; he kicked out with his hooves, sending it flying, and Tylendel caught a glimpse of a long, sinewy body, a horribly twisted blend of greyhound and snake.

“Wyrsa!” Savil barked out. “Get in close – Mardic, can you give us a mage-barrier? I have to get a message–”

Tylendel felt as though somebody had dropped a bucket of ice water into his veins. Wyrsa. Creatures from the Pelagirs. That meant – it had to mean…

Another creature appeared mid-lunge through the fog, leaping higher than he’d imagined possible, right at his head. Crying out, he tried to dodge, realized he couldn’t in time, and sent a levinbolt crashing into it. His head pounded suddenly. It was the first time he had used magic since the incident in his grove.

Then, between one thought and the next, he felt the bond between him and Van come to life, even through the adrenaline-haze – there was alarm, and then a feeling of hands reaching out, and this time he _did_ know where they were coming from – and before he even completed that thought, before he had to ask, Gala was galloping towards them.

She couldn’t possibly have been able to see where they were going. Branches lashed at them, smacking him across the face and chest, but they managed not to hit any trees outright.

 _:I can try to do something about that reaction-headache:_ Gala sent, and a moment later the pain sharpened, like a pick driving in between his eyes, and then vanished. He hadn’t known that was possible. _:Not for long, and you’re really in no shape to fight, but I can give you a little help. We need the advantage of surprise – if we can reach him before they know we’re coming…:_

The words trailed off and he only sensed her as a presence in his head, warm and enveloping and entirely, completely behind him in the one desperate goal left to them.

One thing was clear – it wasn’t Evan Leshara who had taken Van, at least, not alone. It had to be the mage.

 

* * *

 

Vanyel lay propped up against a bale of hay, feeling it scratch at him through his shirt, and the flickering firelight hurt his eyes. Everything hurt, and his vision was blurred, the ground seeming to spin slowly under him. He could feel a knot of pain on the back of his skull, and blood trickling down his neck through his hair; he didn’t even remember taking a blow to the head, but he must have at some point. His stomach churned, and he was trying hard not to vomit; they had stuffed a rag into his mouth and tied it firmly in place, and he was afraid he would choke. It was already hard to breathe.

He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even move; his hands were tied behind his back, the coarse rope painfully tight, and his knees were folded under him, his ankles bound and tied to his hands. It was a desperately uncomfortable position. His hands were completely numb by now, and pins and needles raced through his calves. He was freezing cold despite the fire, which was tiny and threw off more smoke than heat.

Two men in rough leathers, both with daggers at their belts, were guarding the door. They were only half watching him. Just outside the abandoned barn – that was what he thought the half-collapsed building was, anyway – a creature from out of a nightmare slunk back and forth on a small circle, as though on an invisible leash.

He was sick with fear. Tears of despair prickled in his eyes, but he refused to let it show, and he wore the only mask he could still manage, keeping his face completely blank. No matter what they did to him, he wasn’t going to let these men see him cry – and besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe if he started sobbing like he wanted to.

Only one thing held him together. He thought he could feel ‘Lendel still, distantly, but growing nearer; if he wasn’t imagining things, he had been catching fragments through their bond. Somehow he knew that ‘Lendel had realized he was gone, and was searching, and coming in the right direction.

A figure stepped into the doorway, raised a hand, and a sullen crimson ball of light appeared above his head, casting evil-looking shadows across the barn.

He gasped, sucking air through his nostrils. The man was tall, with a sculptured body clad only in an open-necked linen shirt and black leather trews that clung to his muscled thighs. His hair was white-gold and cascaded in waves past his shoulders, and his face was more handsome than any Vanyel had seen before – unnaturally perfect.

He was a mage. Vanyel didn’t need the ball of light to tell him that; he could feel the man’s magic radiating from him, by the knotted tension in his gut.

“Vanyel Ashkevron,” the mage said, and his voice was a deep, rich purr. “You are a prize well worth having, it seems. Mister Leshara did not tell me you were so beautiful.”

Vanyel wouldn’t have thought it was possible to be any more terrified. He swallowed bile and tried to control his breathing, keeping his eyes on a spot just above the man’s head.

The mage took a step forwards, then another, and the light followed him; the shifting shadows made him even dizzier. “I suppose I should introduce myself, lovely child. I am the mage called Krebain. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

His voice gave Vanyel chills. Despite himself he tried and failed to scramble away, only succeeding in rustling the hay behind him.

“You try to run, but why?” Krebain said, and his face was a parody of kindliness. “I don’t intend to hurt you. Well. Not much. Dear Evan Leshara wished me to capture you to lure young Tylendel Frelennye to his death, and then kill both of you, and you were so obliging – but I don’t think I’ll kill you, after all. I couldn’t bear to see such perfection slip out of the world.”

He knelt at Vanyel’s feet, reached out, and brushed one finger along his cheek. Vanyel shuddered. _‘Lendel!_ He tried to call him through the link, but he couldn’t manage to focus; he felt sucked in by Krebain’s eyes, which were black, at odds with his pale skin and white-blonde hair.

“No, I don’t think I can kill you,” the mage said. “I do believe I will take you with me.” His hand caressed Vanyel’s blood-matted hair. “I will mark you, though.” His other hand rose, holding a small dagger with a jeweled handle and a blade that glistened wickedly in the red light. “To make it clear that you’re mine. Don’t worry, it will only hurt a little.”

Vanyel tried to scream, but only a whimper made it through the gag. He wiggled frantically, tears leaking from his eyes despite his efforts. _‘Lendel, please…_ Through a sheen of tears, he saw Krebain smile, a hungry expression. If a raptor could smile, or a snake, he thought it might look like that.

The mage clamped one hand under Vanyel’s chin, holding his head still, and the blade came in. It was so sharp that he barely felt the cut as the tip dragged from his temple, down across his cheekbone. It felt like icy water sliding down his face, and warm blood followed it.

“There, all done,” Krebain said, and his expression was that of a snake after a kill, curling up to digest the prey inside it – proud, satisfied, sated.

He whimpered again, swallowing a sob, fighting to breathe. It was too late, some part of him thought. ‘Lendel wasn’t going to find him in time, this twisted man would take him, and… _Just let me die_ , he thought desperately.

...And then a wave of cold terror washed through the bond, pooling in his chest, and he knew that ‘Lendel wasn’t far away – he was in danger, but he was almost there! He reached out frantically with all of his strength, pouring his despair and terror and pain into it. If the mage saw his expression change, he didn’t acknowledge it; he only stood up, still smiling, and drew out a cloth to wipe the blade of his knife. Vanyel felt his vision going dark around the edges; he was losing blood, and he couldn’t get enough air. Vaguely he saw Krebain still watching him, standing with his back to the door, perfectly relaxed with his hands clasped behind him.

Then there was a loud thud, a flash of light, and a moment later a Companion crashed through the door, bowling the two guards over and trampling right through the little fire. It had to be Gala, because Tylendel was on her back, still in his sleeping-shirt. The mage started to turn, but it was too late – Gala’s hooves lanced up and slammed into his back, and he flew into a bale of hay, bounced back, and fell to the ground. The mage-light went out.

A moment later ‘Lendel was dropping from Gala’s back – he staggered a little as he landed, but caught himself. He ran to the fallen mage just as Krebain rolled over and started to rise.

…Krebain raised his hand, still on his knees on the ground, and Vanyel tried to scream as he felt the levinbolt splash against ‘Lendel’s shields. The other boy stumbled, nearly falling, but the attack hadn’t gotten through, and he raised his own hands and sent a fireball right into Krebain’s face.

After that, things moved quickly. Vanyel’s eyes were blurred with tears; he could feel the attacks that strained against ‘Lendel’s defences, deep in his chest, even if he couldn’t see.

–Tylendel dropped to the ground, and he felt a moment of panic, but a moment later he realized it must have been planned, as Gala soared over him in a perfectly coordinated jump and flattened Krebain to the ground, while ‘Lendel scrambled up and turned to face the guards. He sent levinbolts flying from both hands, and Vanyel closed his eyes against sudden dizziness.

A moment later there was light on his eyelids, and he managed to force his eyes open and saw a little white mage-light, and Tylendel straightening up from one of the fallen bodies, holding a dagger that was now dripping blood. He ran over, hugged Vanyel hard for a moment, and then leaned back, looked into his eyes, and used the dagger to cut the strip of cloth binding the gag in place. Vanyel retched and gasped for air as Tylendel pulled the wadded cloth from his mouth.

“You...came–” He broke into a fit of coughing.

“Shh, no time, we have to go.” ‘Lendel grabbed him under the armpits, and turned him. He began sawing at the rope binding his wrists; the dagger was sharp and it parted in a moment, and then the rope binding his ankles was loose. Tylendel stuffed the dagger into his belt and hauled Vanyel to his feet. Vanyel tried to stand, but his legs refused to support any of his weight.

“Hold on,” ‘Lendel hissed, and Vanyel managed to get his arms around his neck and cling to him as the other boy scooped him into his arms. He staggered, slightly, but Gala knelt for them, and ‘Lendel, who only this morning had barely managed to walk out to the garden unaided, was able to get his leg over her body and pull himself onto the saddle without dropping Vanyel. Then, somehow, they were moving.

“We need to get out of here,” ‘Lendel whispered in his ear. “I don’t know if that mage is dead, but if he isn’t, he’ll be coming for us, and if he is – he was the one controlling the creatures. I killed the one outside, but there are more, and Gala doesn’t think she can outrun them. And I’m not in any shape to fight.” The mage-light was following over their heads, and ‘Lendel managed to free a hand and turned Vanyel’s head to face him. “Oh, _ashke_ … I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I tried to get here as soon as I could… What did he do to you?” His voice was thick with suppressed rage; Vanyel could feel it, too, simmering over into his chest.

He wasn’t sure if he could speak, but he tried, and managed a hoarse whisper. “H-he just t-talked to me, and c-cut my face…”

“You got a good knock on the head, too. Listen, can you try to get one leg over and sit in front of me? Just, I’m not sure I can hold onto you like this if Gala really has to run…”

Vanyel’s legs felt like they were on fire, as circulation returned, but he managed to drag one foot over the saddle. ‘Lendel helped pull his torso upright, and then wrapped his arms around him from behind and held onto the pommel.

“I’m sorry, _ashke_ ,” he was saying, half sobbing. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have… Gods!”

Gala had already bolted and was galloping flat-out, bouncing them up and down in the saddle. Vanyel tried to grasp the pommel under ‘Lendel’s hands, but his numb fingers wouldn’t obey him. He wasn’t sure what had caused the exclamation, but it couldn’t be good. A heavy branch knocked him hard in the forehead before he could even think about dodging; everything went foggy for a moment, and when his vision cleared, he saw a small open space, and the ruins of an ancient stone building. Not large – it might once have been a smallholder’s cottage, or maybe a tiny village temple. The roof had fallen in, but the walls still stood, though the back wall had half fallen in. The arch of what had once been a doorway gaped at them. 

Gala ran right up to it, then planted all four of her feet hard and skidded to a stop. He felt rather than saw ‘Lendel raise his hand and cast a bolt of lightning behind them – it lit up the inside of his eyelids for a moment. Then ‘Lendel was half-falling out of the saddle; he reached up and pulled Vanyel roughly down, and he dragged both of them through the ruined doorway.

Galan didn’t follow them; she stood in front of the doorway, blocking it with her body, screaming defiance into the darkness.

“Gala thinks…she can hold them...off here,” he panted. “Gods, my head…”

Vanyel’s legs still refused to support him, and he sagged to the mossy ground as soon as ‘Lendel let go of his arm. He could barely see his lover’s face, in the darkness. “Savil?” he croaked.

Tylendel summoned another tiny mage-light and made it hover just above their heads; he gasped even at that slight effort. “Gala says she’s… She’s with Mardic and Donni, they’re holding off some more of these creatures. They’ll be able to fight them off, she thinks, but they can’t get to us yet.” He squinted past Gala’s bulk as she reared up and kicked something that Vanyel couldn’t see. “Hopefully that’s all of them and that leaves us just these three...four? They’re damned hard to see.” His face went blank for a moment, and then Gala dodged to one side, and Vanyel felt a strange tugging feeling inside him a moment before ‘Lendel leaned past her and sent a ball of fire spinning towards one of the creatures. Before it hit, its light showed him far more than he wanted to see – a body that seemed half greyhound, half snake, long and sinuous and scaly, with a wedge-shaped head and eyes that glowed…

“What are they?” he gasped as ‘Lendel ducked back and sank to the ground beside him, holding his forehead.

“Wyrsa. Magical creatures. From the Pelagirs.” He spoke tonelessly. His eyes turned vacant again for a few seconds, and then – “Two more of them just showed up. I don’t know if we can hold them off, Van.”

Vanyel tried desperately to think. “Can you do what Savil did? Um, the Gate, I mean?” He had to almost shout, to be heard over the awful sounds coming from outside. “There’s a doorway.”

“It’s no good, I’m worn out – and I haven’t learned the spell properly – gods, I wish...” Gala screamed, then, drowning him out for a moment. Vanyel caught a glimpse of a flying body, its head trampled under her hooves. Then she turned her head and looked at them for a moment – no, at him, her blue eyes seeming to pierce him straight through.

“What?” ‘Lendel said out loud. Then– “Gala says I’m already pulling from you, through the bond, that – that it’s the only reason I’m still able to fight at all. I – I thought it might be possible, Mardic and Donni can do it, but I wasn’t sure...”

“Nevermind.” His throat hurt from trying to speak above all the noise, but he had to. “You could use me for the Gate too, then, right? If you knew the spell?”

“Probably. I was thinking, last week...” He didn’t finish the sentence. “I was paying attention when Savil Gated us here. But it’s too dangerous, you’re already weak, and if I can’t control the spell...”

“I can take it.” Vanyel wasn’t at all sure of that, but he didn’t want to stay here a moment longer. “Could you Mindspeak Savil to get the instructions?”

There was a very long silence – probably only ten seconds or so, but with the terrifying sounds coming from the creatures beyond the door, it felt much longer.

“Gala says she thinks it’s a bad idea, but it’s a worse idea to stay here. She’s not sure she can hold them off long enough. She says if Savil’s willing to give me the spell, she’ll do her best to help me. I– I’ll have to really force the link, it’ll hurt you, and it’ll give you backlash, too, but – but we only need it up for a few seconds, and I do _not_ want to be stuck here much longer.” He took a deep breath. “Can you handle it, _ashke_?”

He couldn’t think. His head was spinning. “Of course, ‘Lendel. Just...do it…” Anything to get them out of here. 

There was another, much longer silence; then ‘Lendel put a hand on his shoulder and used it to haul himself to his feet.

“Okay. Gala will hold them off on the outside. I’ll open the Gate on this side. The wyrsa won’t be able to come in through the door, you can’t cross the backside of a Gate. When I have it up, you’ll go through first, and Gala will run around to the back – the wall’s half crumbled there and she thinks she can jump it, or kick it in if not, and she’ll squeeze through after us. If – if she can’t get through, she thinks she can outrun them if she’s not carrying us. Then I’ll take it down before any of those damned creatures follow us. It’ll be tight, but we can do it. It’ll work.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. “Are you ready, _ashke_?”

Vanyel only nodded, unable to speak.

“Here goes, I guess.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then his world exploded. He was inside a hurricane, caught in currents of terror and anguish and guilt, and under it was a tide of rage like molten rock, and – and behind that was a cold, echoing void, the icy emptiness left when Staven had died and ripped out a part of ‘Lendel’s soul. But he could feel hope, too, and determination – he could feel ‘Lendel’s love for him, an inexorable song that ran through everything. And he could even feel Gala, a blazing presence close at ‘Lendel’s side, half a part of him, and he felt her fear and resolve and her love for ‘Lendel, gods, for both of them…

‘Lendel began to chant. Vanyel couldn’t really hear it, his ears were ringing and his vision was oddly doubled – almost tripled, actually, he was catching glimpses of creatures rushing in and silver hooves dashing them, glimpses that must have been through Gala’s eyes. He could feel ‘Lendel’s lips moving. He felt the power building, tension humming in the air.

And he felt a pull inside him, and his own strength oozing away. Even as his vision started to fade out, he saw the doorway begin to glow, a clean white light that built and built. Then he felt ‘Lendel reaching with his mind, saw the image he brought to his mind’s eye of the temple in Haven they had departed from, felt how he reached for memories of sounds and smells, anchoring the place…

Tendrils of light began to reach out from the edges of that glowing arch, and he felt his strength draining from him faster and faster, almost being sucked from him into the spell’s hungry maw...

Later, he would remember that they almost made it. They were so close.

Neither of them saw it coming.

One moment, Gala was holding her own, rearing and stomping, two of the creatures already crushed and broken at her feet beside the one that ‘Lendel had scorched and, further back, the crumpled remains of the one he had struck with a mage-bolt. The next moment, one of them seemed to come from nowhere, leaping up, higher than seemed possible, towards her throat, and Gala tried to dodge sideways but she was tired, he could feel the burning exhaustion in her muscles, and she was a hair too slow–

He _felt_ the creature tear her throat open, just as ‘Lendel did. One of them was screaming, but he couldn’t tell which. He was himself, crumpled on the ground, and he was ‘Lendel, hands raised before the half-formed Gate, and he was Gala, laying on her side as her blood gushed out onto the moss, taking her life with it.

 _:I love you...my Chosen:_ He heard her in his/their head, a young woman’s voice, tired and full of sorrow and love. _:I’m sorry. You can still..get out…:_

He felt her die – felt the light that was her dim and fade, slip away into darkness, falling forever into a bottomless void, and tearing out half of ‘Lendel’s mind and soul with her passing, as he/they cried her name out over and over, uselessly.

Somehow, Vanyel had no idea how, he/they kept control of the spell. If they hadn’t, they would both have died a moment later – he knew that, though he didn’t know how he knew. But as the half-finished, one-sided Gate sucked at his remaining strength, through the whirling storm of emptiness, he felt as ‘Lendel fought through the howling agony, pushing it back just enough to find the image of the temple again, to hold onto it, to reach…

There was a blaze of light, and Vanyel blacked out.

When he came to, which must have been only seconds later, ‘Lendel was kneeling beside him and shaking his shoulder.

“Go,” he croaked. “Go, go go go!”

Vanyel managed to lift his head, but that was about the limits of his strength. The doorway no longer showed a foggy clearing full of nightmarish Pelagirs-creatures – he saw the Palace grounds, dark and rainy, from the perspective of the temple front door. He could still hear the wyrsa pacing outside, though, and they could jump too, now that Gala was no longer distracting them it was only a matter of time before they found the half-fallen part of the wall.

He made another effort to push himself up on his elbows, but failed. “Can’t,” he gasped.

The Gate glowed an angry vermilion now, rather than white, and the outline rippled and buckled. ‘Lendel, his face a mask of pain in that awful light, reached down and lifted him under both shoulders. He dragged Vanyel the few steps over to the Gate, lifted him as unceremoniously as a sack of grain, and shoved him through.

...The bottom dropped out of his stomach, he was falling through blackness, he couldn’t feel his body and wasn’t sure if he had one…

When he came to, he was on the other side of the Gate. He still felt ‘Lendel in his head, faintly, as though from a long way in the distance, even though he could still see him as though he was only a few paces away, through the faltering Gate. He had fallen to hands and knees.

Slowly, moving like an old man, ‘Lendel dragged himself to his feet.

And in a moment of blinding, awful clarity he realized that ‘Lendel had no intention of following him through the Gate, had never had any intention of it – at least, not since the moment when Gala’s light had slipped out of the world. He had moved his lover to safety and now he stood with his back to the Gate, like he had already forgotten it, no, he had deliberately blotted it out from his awareness, and the cold swirling emptiness of his mind was filling with rage like molten steel, an avalanche of fire that held back the void even as it destroyed everything it touched. Desperately, Vanyel tried to crawl back towards the Gate, and inside every part of him was reaching and straining towards ‘Lendel, but it was too late, a decision had been made and ‘Lendel had pushed him aside, all his attention focused on...something.

Through the shimmering membrane of the Gate, he raised his hands once more, an image that would stay with Vanyel forever.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the hazy image of the abandoned house vanished, consumed by a sheet of blue-white flame. Vanyel, unable to look away, felt as though he had fallen into the heart of the sun. Somehow he knew that the fire, pressing up against the Gate that it could not cross, was made of everything that had ever been ‘Lendel, going up like a candle; his hopes and dreams, his rage, his determination, his love…

Oddly, as he felt his last moments faintly through the link, there was no pain, and no fear.

The miniature sun faded to yellow, then orange, and then there was just ordinary fire, visible but distorted through the increasingly unstable Gate. Vanyel felt his eyes close, felt himself falling sideways, his body no longer under his control. It was as though half of his heart had burned away, leaving only a blackened ruin inside him. It hurt, gods, how could anything hurt so much… He was still whimpering ‘Lendel’s name as he sank towards unconsciousness.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Herald Tantras set down the notes he had been making and stood up to pace.

 _:Delian, am I forgetting anything? What should I be doing?:_ He had organized a search party, sending out about half of the understrength Guard company camped here, and he had been able to reach Healer Andrel, who was a Mindspeaker, and get updates on the patrols sent out by the other Holding. There were a lot of boots on the ground.

But it was a large area to search, and the boy had been missing for candlemarks.

He felt his Companion’s soothing presence. _:You’re doing fine, love. This is exactly where you need to be – coordinating the search and being available as a relay:_

He groaned. This was the first true emergency he had dealt with in his career as a Herald. Somehow he had thought it would be exciting. It wasn’t. It was awful. _:Delian, what if they don’t find him?:_

_:They will. Stop fretting, Chosen. Stay calm:_

He took a deep breath, let it out, and was about to sit down when he felt Savil’s mind flailing at his shields. _:Tran!:_

She was normally very strict about the formal Mindspeech protocols. He let her through instantly, fear like ice dripping down his back. _:What?:_

 _:Ambushed. Wyrsa:_ Words flung like darts, underlaid by horror. _:’Lendel’s separated. In trouble:_ She pulled back from the fragmentary contact before he could make any reply.

 _:They’re fighting for their lives:_ Delian jumped in. _:Don’t distract her. I can relay through Kellan. I’m trying to get through to Gala but she’s very distracted:_

Tantras headed for the door at a run. His heart was racing, a bitter chemical taste in his mouth. _Don’t panic_ , he was thinking, _don’t panic don’t panic oh gods I’m probably panicking._ He had to pass the message on to the search parties somehow, and none of the men he had sent out were Mindspeakers. The rest of the guards ought to still be in the dining hall; it was the largest and best-appointed space for group meetings.

Captain Jakarth was on his feet before he had even reached him. “What is it, lad?”

He was too wound up for it to rankle him, being called ‘lad’; besides, the captain had to be in his fifties, probably any man under thirty looked like a boy to him. “Sir, bad news,” he managed to force out. “Herald Savil and her students ran into some wyrsa. Which has to mean that the mage is still around–”

“Understood,” the Captain barked. He glanced over his shoulder and snapped his fingers; moments later, all of his men were on their feet. “Where are they?”

Reaching for Delian, he headed towards the table and the canvas map spread out on it. _:Can you show me where they are?:_

He felt the little tickle in the back of his head that indicated Delian looking through his eyes. _:Kellan’s here:_ His eyes were drawn, by a force that wasn’t his, to a random-looking spot of forest. He touched it with a finger, pointing it out to the Captain. _:Gala is– They’ve found Vanyel!:_ Delian added, his mindvoice full of relief and jubilation. _:They’re here, roughly:_ Tantras pointed that spot out as well; it looked like some abandoned outbuildings. “I need to relay this,” he said after he’d finished.

Captain Jakarth slapped his shoulder. “Do what you have to. Come on, people, let’s move!”

Tantras sagged down onto a bench and closed his eyes, trying to slip into the light trance he needed to reach as far as Herald Corin, who was at the halfway point between Westrel Keep and Haven – he could have tried for Herald Eliana, who was on circuit much closer, but her Mindspeech was weak and it would only add more steps to the relay, and more delay.

He couldn’t find the inner stillness that he needed for this. He thought he had been afraid before, but this– _:Delian, I can’t:_

_:Come out here, love:_

His Companion could help him drop into trance if they had physical contact. He stumbled to his feet and ran for the door. His heartbeat roared in his ears, seconds passing like sand slipping between his fingers.

Darkness had fallen some time ago. Delian met him just outside, and he leaned into his neck, closing his eyes again and trying to let go of the whirling desperation that filled him. It was like trying to unclench cramped fingers and release a heavy object. Delian sent waves of _calm-reassurance-safety_ through their bond, and after a few more seconds he was able to center and ground. He opened his Thoughtsensing fully and Reached, ignoring the dozens of minds close by, stretching himself out along the miles, and with a feeling like his fingertips brushing an object just outside his reach, he found the other Herald’s mind and politely tapped against his shields. _:Corin?:_

Surprise, but the man accepted the contact. _:Tantras?:_

He clung to the Mindspeech protocols; it helped him stay calm. _:Update on the situation at Westrel Keep, priority one header. Herald-Mage Savil and her students encountered a pack of wyrsa. Likely the mage is still present. They’ve located the Ashkevron boy but things are chaotic. Over:_

He felt Corin’s alarm, reverberating along the tenuous link between them. He was professional, though, and his mindvoice stayed calm. _:Confirmed. Priority one header, I’ll pass it up-chain:_

 _:Thank you:_ He withdrew from the contact with relief. Nearly two hundred miles, right on the edge of his range; he was going to have a reaction-headache in a few seconds. But the message ought to reach Haven in no more than a half-candlemark.

…For all the good it would do, he thought as he shook himself out of trance, blinking. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. _:Delian, anything from Kellan or Gala?:_

_:Can’t get through to either of them:_

He scrambled onto his Companion, bareback, and then they were moving. A moment later Delian stopped, and he felt the stallion’s surprise. _:What is it?:_

_:Gate-energy, I think. Maybe–:_

And then he stumbled and knelt. Tantras clutched at his mane and tightened his knees. _:Delian?:_ He could feel the pain and shock echoing down their bond, something was wrong, something terrible had just happened–

 _:Gala’s dead:_ A pause, and then, to his complete surprise, Delian bucked and threw him from his back. The earth rose up to meet him and knocked the breath from him.

_:Delian, what–:_

And then there was light.

It whited out the whole horizon, and a few seconds later the sound arrived, a rolling boom like thunder, and with it the heat, scorching, searing, Delian trying to shield him with his own body but it wasn’t enough, the wind stole his breath so he screamed only in his mind.

There was pain, and then there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

Mardic gasped for air as he fought at Fortin’s side, marshaling his mage-energies and throwing frantically aimed levinbolts as his Companion lashed out with his hooves. He, Savil, and Donni were back-to-back in a small clearing, and they were surrounded. It was impossible to tell how many wyrsa there were – the way they moved, hypnotically twisting their bodies in and out of strange patterns, made it hard for the eye to tell where one creature ended and another began. There were a lot, though. They seemed resistant to magic; they had knocked down his attempt at a mage-barrier in well under a minute, and he didn’t have the strength or the concentration to manage another.

Savil send a wave of force forwards, like a mobile shield, and knocked three of them flying, but they were up a moment later. She send fireballs spinning from both hands. “Have to...get through!” she shouted over the din; she was as out of breath as he was. “‘Lendel has Van, but they’re...being pursued…” None of them could maintain the concentration to Mindspeak, not while they were fighting like this; he knew that Savil’s Kellan was relaying from Gala.

Mardic winced. A lone Companion and trainee had no hope of holding these things back. Damn it, why had Tylendel gone off on his own like that?

“Is Van okay?” he shouted back.

Grimly, Savil moved her hands in a complex gesture, and a tiny whirlwind moved away from her, a tornado scaled down to five feet high. It wasn’t fast, but when it reached the wyrsa nearest them, it began shredding scales and bits of flesh… “He’s hurt!” she shouted back. “Not sure...how bad...but he can’t fight!”

Under the cold panic that filled him, Mardic felt the rage forming, moving in like an advancing glacier. Oh, he didn’t have a temper like ‘Lendel – his was a slow, cold anger, and entirely under his control. But it gave him strength. They had kidnapped his friend. They had hurt him. He was going to find a way to stop them, no matter what it took.

“Oh!” Savil’s eyes went wide with surprise. Her hands faltered, and Kellan stepped in on one side to cover her, Mardic taking the other. At his back, he felt Donni fighting – frightened, but determined.

Savil swayed, steadied herself, her face gone slack. When she opened her eyes, there was an expression in them that Mardic had never seen before.

“Gala can’t hold them off!” she said, her voice oddly toneless, just barely audible over the fighting. “’Lendel wants me to…give him the Gate spell.” She staggered; Mardic caught her shoulder. “We need to reach them!”

The bottom fell out of Mardic’s chest. A Gate… ‘Lendel wasn’t strong enough, surely! He understood the fear in her voice perfectly, but there was an icy resignation in his gut. “We can’t get to them,” he heard himself say, his voice calm.

A pause, and then– “Cover me.” Savil closed her eyes, holding motionless. Seconds passed – ten, twenty, thirty seconds. They sheltered her as well as they could, in the middle of their circle.

He was paying attention, and even shielded and from a distance, he felt the Gate-energy start to build. Face twisted into a fierce smile, he threw another levinbolt. It missed, but the creature that had been leaping at them had to dodge and twist in midair, falling back, giving him and Fortin a moment to regroup…

Fortin tossed his head and squealed, a sound that was almost human. All three of the Companions stumbled back. Mardic reached out in his mind, trying to figure out what was happening, and then he saw Savil’s face, blanched of all colour – and then he knew, and stumbled, nearly falling.

“Gala’s dead,” Savil whispered, which he already knew; he read her lips, though he couldn’t hear her at all. “He’s...somehow...holding the Gate…” She stepped back. “I have to get through to ‘Lendel.”

Mardic nodded tersely and stepped in front of her again as she sank to her knees and closed her eyes. Around them, in a circle where Savil’s mage-light had burned off the fog, the broken bodies of wyrsa littered the ground, but judging by the cries there were still plenty of the creatures. Maybe they could break through... But he knew enough about Gates to realize that it was too late to abort the spell. Either ‘Lendel would finish it and get out, sometime in the next few seconds, or he and Vanyel would both die.

Then Savil screamed and threw up a mage-barrier inches in front of Mardic’s nose. He stumbled back – what was going on, why – and then a blinding light filled the horizon, like the inside of a star. Seconds later, the loudest sound he had ever heard followed, a crack like thunder that went on and on. A terrible wind battered at Savil’s shield. _What?_ Never mind what, he felt Savil faltering as she poured all of her energy into the barrier, and he reached out with a mental hand to her. She took it and strength flowed from his center to hers, and a moment later he felt Donni link with him as well, joining more closely than they ever had before, pouring her own energy into the meld. A sheet of flame battered away at the fragile shielding, tearing off layers of it that Savil fought to replace in time, and the air around them was quickly heating. He sensed that she had reached for the nearest node and was pulling from it as well, but the ley-lines were weak in the region, and it was draining fast…

An eternity later – probably it had only been ten or twenty seconds, but it was certainly the longest ten or twenty seconds he had ever experienced – the fire began to die down. Savil held the shield, her face a rictus grin, until the wind and the flaming bits of debris it carried had slowed to something only a little above a natural storm. He felt her fighting to keep them protected as long as she could – just a moment longer –

Then she dropped out of the meld and collapsed in a heap at his feet. The barrier shattered, its energies dumping into the earth, and Mardic fell to his knees as a scorching wind that tasted of ash slammed into his face. His ears were ringing, spots dancing in his vision.

Donni was at his elbow. “Are you...is she…”

He rolled Savil over and checked the pulse at her neck. She was breathing shallowly. “She’s alive. Backlash shock, I imagine.” He felt the wind cut off and looked up to see the three Companions stepping in front of them, shielding their humans with their own bodies.

“What was that?” Donni said weakly. “I, I don’t…”

Fortin spoke in his head, confirming what Mardic had already guessed. _:That was a Final Strike. Tylendel’s:_

Donni’s eyes went wide, and he knew her Companion must have passed along the same words. She sagged against him, and he put his arm around her small body and held her. As though that could make any of it better!

His mage-sight was half-blinded, but something nagged at him; what was it? No, that made no sense.

 _:The Gate’s still up:_ Fortin confirmed. _:I don’t know how it can possibly be, but it is:_

Somehow, his mind made the connection. He didn’t even know how he knew.

“Oh, gods. Vanyel.”

“What?”

He grabbed Donni’s face, kissed her hard, and pulled her close for a moment, then stood up. “‘Lendel must’ve linked to Van somehow to open the Gate. I think it’s tied directly to him, he went through first, so he’s alive, but–”

“Then it’s still draining him,” Donni said, understanding immediately. “Go! I’ll stay with Savil, just go!”

Fortin was ready for him; he flung himself onto his back and then were off, galloping through a wasteland. Small fires burned everywhere, providing the only light; there were no trees left standing. None of the creatures either. The horizon was red behind him; half the forest must be on fire by now. He couldn’t imagine how they could possibly have survived this. If Savil hadn’t somehow known a moment before it had happened…

 _:She was trying to Mindtouch ‘Lendel:_ Fortin said. _:She felt him–:_

There was no need to finish the sentence. Mardic shuddered. _:Will she be all right?:_

_:I highly doubt it:_

They must not have been more than a half-mile away, in the end. Nearer to the source of the explosion, there was nothing left at all of the trees or undergrowth, and patches of the ground had even been slagged into a black, glassy substance. He saw the Gate from a good distance away; it was the only thing standing. Maybe there had been some kind of building before, but there wasn’t now, only a single row of stones marking out an archway, which he guessed was only being held together by the magic of the Gate itself. Lightning flashed on the other side, and rain was coming down hard. It would storming on this side too soon enough, he thought, as the Gate-energies played merry hell with the weather patterns.

The archway looked small. “Can you fit?” he said to Fortin, and coughed as the ash-filled air scratched at his throat.

_:I hope so. Gala thought she could:_

He looked dubiously at the Gate, and switched back to Mindspeech, he was still coughing. _:Is it safe?:_ Its light was a sickly crimson, and the outline was rippling and bucking as though in a high wind. _:It’s not supposed to look like that, is it?:_

 _:No, it’s unstable:_ Fortin confirmed. _:You can still see the other side, though, so it should take you there:_

And if it was still up, Van was still alive, and on the other side.

He slid off Fortin’s back and, before he could lose his courage, dived across the threshold.

It was a million times worse than his last Gate-crossing. He seemed to fall forever, in a screaming darkness, and when he stumbled and fell to his knees on the other side he was utterly disoriented. The icy rain brought him back to himself. A flash of lightning showed him a crumpled body to one side of the Gate. He made a tiny mage-light, all he could manage, and reached for Vanyel’s shoulder, rolling him onto his side.

The boy was unconscious, his face ashy white; he looked almost transparent, as though the Gate had already taken half of his substance. His silver eyes were open and unseeing. A cut down one side of his face was crusted with drying blood.

Mardic closed his eyes. There was a deep ache in his chest. _:Donni:_ he thought – not Mindspeaking to her, she was far out of range, just reaching pointlessly. Gods, it hurt. The strain on their bond felt like it might pull him apart.

Fortin squeezed through, narrowly avoiding stepping on them, and immediately crumpled over onto his side. _:Oof:_ he moaned in Mardic’s head. _:That wasn’t right...I feel sick…:_

“What’s going on?”

Mardic jerked his head up. A Companion and Herald in mud-splattered Whites reached them and skidded to a stop. He squinted. It was Jaysen.

“The Death Bell just rang,” the Herald-Mage said, his mouth twisted like he had bitten into something bitter. “Is it, was it – was it Savil?”

“No. Tylendel,” Mardic said, his own voice sounding strange and empty. “Savil’s unconscious, Donni’s with her– We’ve got to take the Gate down, s’pulling from Vanyel.”

 _:I’ll get a Healer:_ Fortin said in his head, now unsteadily back on his four legs.

“Vanyel? What? I don’t – Nevermind. Savil! I have to get to her. Boy, you take the Gate down from this side after I go through. Doesn’t look like it’ll hold much longer anyway.”

And with that he was gone, crossing the rippling surface of the Gate without hesitation, clearly stumbling and falling as he reached the other side. Felar, his Companion, did hesitate for a moment, but then followed.

“Dammit!” Mardic could barely hear his own voice over the rumble of thunder and the pounding rain, the storm already intensifying. “Just went off like that– Never mind whether I can take down a Gate! I have no idea how! Guess I’ll just…” One hand still on Vanyel’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and reached out with mental ‘fingers’, feeling for the structure of the Gate, trying to unwind the energies.

The Gate resisted, fighting his attempt. He frowned and tried again. Was it supposed to…? No time to waste, no time to think. He gathered his strength, steeled himself, and then reached in with mental hands and _tore_ at the Gate with everything he had.

It came crashing down – but instead of dumping into the earth and dissipating, the released energy followed the conduit left to it, the cord of flowing power that tethered it to the fading life-force at Vanyel’s core. It rushed through him like a bolt of lightning, and Vanyel cried out like an animal and convulsed under Mardic’s grip.

Mardic lifted his hands; they felt scorched, but his palms were undamaged.

Then power-drain caught up with him and he felt himself toppling into darkness.

When he came to, he was facedown in the mud, his mouth half full of gritty rainwater. He coughed and tried to roll over – and realized that there were hands on his shoulders, helping him. His head was pounding unbearably in time with his pulse.

“Don’t try to sit up yet.” The hands belonged to a kind-faced, elderly man in Healer Greens. “Just relax...hold still for me…” Cool fingers touched his brow, and he felt a small measure of energy flowing into him. It didn’t do anything about the headache, but it gave him the strength to struggle up onto his elbows.

“Where’s Vanyel?” he said, looking around. “He needs you more…”

The Healer’s brow furrowed. “Who? I just found you. Your Companion accosted me on my way to my quarters and carried me here. Didn’t think I’d ever get to ride a Companion, either!”

Mardic looked up. Fortin was standing with his head bowed, flanks heaving, his mane plastered flat with rain and mud.

“He was right here!” But there was no sign of Vanyel. “Where?” Mardic whimpered as a sledgehammer beat pounded through his head.

The Healer caught him and held him steady as he started to topple again. “You’re in shock, lad. Best be still for a moment. We should get inside, out of the wet.” He gestured his chin at the temple door.

He couldn’t exactly do anything else, he thought bitterly; he was as weak as a day-old kitten. _:Fortin!:_ he managed, though Mindspeech hurt. _:Can you start a search? Pass the word? Dunno how he could’ve gone anywhere, but we have to find him…:_

Acknowledgement. _:Need to catch my breath, but I’ve passed word, we’re searching:_ he sent after a moment, and Mardic sighed as he felt pride and love surge through him. _:You did well, Chosen:_

He let the Healer pull him into the shelter of the temple, but he was starting to lose track of things again; he found himself lying on the cold stone floor, unsure of how he had gotten there, the dim ceiling seeming to rotate gently above him. _:Just rest a minute:_ Fortin sent, and he closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When Donni felt the Gate-energies collapse and fade, she let her head drop into her hands for just a moment. It was the first time she and Mardic had been physically apart by more than a half-mile or so since they had bonded. She could still feel him…a little…and the sense of distance and separation was like a fishhook tearing her flesh.

Slowly, with great effort, she uncovered her face. Her Rasha and Savil’s Kellan were still shielding both of them from the wind with their bodies. Almost all of the nearby trees were either knocked flat, or on fire.

…It occurred to her that it was probably a very bad idea to stay here. Even so, for a moment she couldn’t face the thought of moving. She was teetering on the edge of exhaustion, her vision blurring and not just from the tears that threatened.

 _Pull yourself together, girl._ The imaginary voice in her head sounded so like Savil that she actually laughed, harshly, and started coughing. She took a deep breath and bent over to shake her teacher’s shoulder. “Savil. Wake up. Please. Please wake up.” She tried to Mindtouch her as well, but felt only darkness and pain – and when she tried to lift Savil’s shoulders, her strength failed her and they both ended up sprawled on the ground. _:Don’t know what to do, Rasha. Can’t move her on my own:_

 _:Someone’s coming:_ A pause. _:Felar? I don’t–:_

That was Herald Jaysen’s Companion. Jaysen was supposed to be in Haven.

_:He came through the Gate before Mardic took it down:_

Some of her whirling panic relaxed. Help was coming. She didn’t especially like Jaysen, he was so stiff-necked and sour, but he was an adult, and no one could say he wasn’t competent.

She was just struggling to sit up again when the ringing of hooves on scorched ground announced him, and she barely had time to look up before he was flinging himself down from the saddle, rolling and landing in a crouch next to her. He ignored her, though, going straight for Savil. She watched him rest two fingers on her teacher’s forehead, and remembered that he had a weak Healing Gift. Thank the gods. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could just lie down and sleep, but she knew it wasn’t the time.

“Herald Jaysen, we should go,” she heard herself say. Her voice sounded strange, flat and empty, every word took so much effort. “Not safe.”

“Can see that.” His voice was already hoarse from the smoke in the air. A pause. “You hurt?”

“Don’t think so.” It was hard to tell; everything ached and the inside of her head felt raw, but she thought that was just from the sheer amount of power they had channeled.

 _:Donni:_ Rasha prodded at her. _:I’m trying to reach Delian and I can’t. I should be able to, the keep isn’t so far from here. Could you Mindspeak Tantras?:_

She took a deep breath. Her range was nothing exceptional, and she had only Mindtouched Tantras once or twice and didn’t have much rapport to hone in on. _:I can try:_

 _:I’ll boost you:_ She grunted in surprise; she hadn’t known that was a thing Companions could do. But she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Centre, ground, open… Her awareness raced outwards – there were no minds nearby, and further out, the minds she did sense leaked only confusion and pain.

She found the shape that was Tantras – or, at least, she thought it was him. His shields were down and his mind was a haze of agony. _:Herald Tantras?:_ she prodded. No answer. More urgently, _:Tran!:_

 _:?!:_ A wordless response, more like a whimper than a greeting. She wrenched her eyes open. “Herald Jaysen! I think Tantras is hurt.” She took a deep breath. “You’re the closest thing to a Healer. Andrel’s still at the Frelennye Keep.” And he would have his own injured to deal with over there, surely. 

Jaysen grimaced. “Suppose we should get Savil into a warm bed, too. Westrel Keep’s closest?” He scrambled up onto his knees and, with incredible gentleness, lifted her teacher in his arms. “Help me?”

With what little help Donni was able to give, and with Felar kneeling for them, Jaysen was able to scramble onto his Companion’s back. Kellan hovered anxiously beside them as Donni mounted Rasha, clutching to the mare’s neck.

Jaysen made a small mage-light to better watch their footing, and they rode.

By the time they reached the shadowy outline of the Leshara fortress, Donni was shaking hard and fighting back tears. She didn’t think she had ever seen anything so awful. There were bodies, and charred lumps that were barely recognizable as bodies, and bodies that weren’t quite dead… And Mardic wasn’t here. At least she had Rasha, but she still felt so alone.

 _:Mardic:_ she thought, uselessly.

Men called out to them in hoarse voices; on a few of them she recognized the dark blue uniforms of the Guard, and what must have been the livery of the Leshara armsmen. Their words rolled over her, passing through her ears without understanding, and so did Jaysen’s responses.

Jaysen rode through a gate in a stone wall that was intact, though it was scorched black and the grass in front of it still smouldered. Donni realized that Rasha had peeled off and was taking her in another direction. She was too tired to be curious, even when they stopped. She couldn’t really see what they had stopped for, Jaysen had taken the mage-light with him and she didn’t have the strength left to conjure her own, but she finally made out a pale humped shape, and a shadow next to it.

“Tantras,” she heard herself say, faintly, and she fell more than dismounted from Rasha’s back. While Rasha nudged at the unconscious Companion, she crawled to the human body in its shadow. Light, she needed light. She couldn’t see his burns, but she could smell them. She struggled to find the pulse of his neck; it was thready and too fast. His breathing was laboured and raspy. Damn it, she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t a Healer! She tried to Mindtouch again, pushing through the howling pain that filled his surface mind. _:Tantras, hang on, please don’t die:_

He was semiconscious at best, but she thought he recognized her. _:M’not gonna…hurts…:_

“I know,” she said out loud, she couldn’t bear the mental contact anymore. “Just hang on, it’s going to be okay…”

 

* * *

 

Lancir was already moving even as he reached for Taver. He wasn’t a strong Thoughtsenser, and it was hard for them to Mindspeak clearly unless he was in trance or they were in physical contact, but he could pass on simple concepts. Concepts like _I’m coming to meet you at the stables._

The Gate-energy was gone, though something had felt wrong, uncontrolled, about the way he had felt the Gate come down. The storm was worsening; he hadn’t bothered to double back for a cloak, he was going to be soaked before he even reached the stables. And he hadn’t stopped to summon a page and send an update to Elspeth, either, but it wasn’t like he had any more idea than her what was going on. She would have heard the Death Bell just as clearly as he had.

The bell had stopped ringing, but he could still feel it echoing in his mind. The second death in a week.

Taver must have terrorized some poor stableboy into tacking him up twice as fast as usual, because they met just outside the low stone wall around the ornamental garden. He reached for his Companion’s shoulder, and took a steadying breath. Center and ground… “Taver, do you know anything yet?”

_:Herald Jaysen’s Felar relayed to me that they were going through the Gate. I am not sure why:_

Savil, of course. He knew how close they were. Jaysen was usually level-headed enough, but he had to be panicking right now. Elspeth wouldn’t be pleased at all – bad enough that he had gotten himself stranded a week’s journey away, worse that he hadn’t even asked permission. “Who Gated in, do we know?”

_:It is very complicated:_

Lancir blinked and tried to swipe rainwater out of his eyes, and grabbed for the pommel to haul himself into the saddle. How complicated could it be? Gating was deeply personal magic; there was no way to do it in concert. Savil was the only one who should have been powerful enough to open a Gate at all, but she would have let him know immediately if she were in Haven.

 _:Felar relayed that Trainee Mardic came through the Gate. I am trying to reach his Fortin for more information, though they are both in some degree of shock currently:_ A pause. _:It appears Trainee Tylendel opened the Gate, but not alone:_

“What?” That made no sense.

_:Fortin says that he pulled energy from Vanyel:_

He nearly fell out of the saddle. That was impossible. Or, no, there was a way it could be possible, maybe. No time to think about it now. They were moving through the rain now, at a canter, the fastest pace that was safe with the footing and visibility this poor. Towards the temple.

 _:Vanyel is here:_ Another hesitation. _:Was:_

“What do you mean?” Gods, his back ached already. He bent low over Taver’s neck, trying to shield himself from the rain blowing sideways into his face.

Taver didn’t answer right away, only sped his pace, and not very long later they were skidding to a halt in front of the temple. The big bronze door was propped open and he saw a couple of figures just inside, sitting on the marble floor, and a Companion hovering under the shelter of the overhanging roof.

He dismounted carefully, wincing at the pain in his joints, and pushed his way inside, squatting and bringing up a mage-light. A small one; he thought he might need his strength, later.

“Herald.” An elderly man in Healer’s robes, the green darkened by rain and clinging to his thin frame, nodded to him. He was holding a youngster in ash-stained clothes, the boy’s head in his lap. A moment later, Lancir recognized Trainee Mardic.

_:Fortin says that Vanyel was here, unconscious, when they came through. The Gate-crossing was hard on them, and the backlash knocked both of them out for a minute or two when Mardic took it down. Fortin says that he did not see Vanyel leave, but the boy is certainly not here now:_

“He can’t have gone far,” Lancir muttered.

_:The Companions are directing a search:_

That was unusually helpful of them. Then again, these seemed to be very unusual circumstances. He focused his eyes on the Healer. “Is the lad going to be all right?”

The Healer smiled, showing a number of missing teeth. “He’ll be right as rain in a day or two. I’d like to get him to his bed, if you could help.”

 _:Chosen:_ Taver interrupted him just as he started to reply, in that ringing mindvoice of his that couldn’t be ignored. _:Chosen, Fortin says that Tylendel called down a Final Strike. On the Leshara lands:_

The words were like a physical blow. He reeled, losing track of everything for a moment. And, gods, it was awful but there was a small part of him that was relieved. Relieved because at least it wasn’t Savil, who was damned near irreplaceable.

He couldn’t put his thoughts into words or Mindspeech, but Taver knew his question anyway. _:Gala was killed, first:_

Another blow. He took a deep breath. _Pull yourself together, Herald._ No time to mourn now. He opened his eyes, made his voice gentle as he reached for Mardic’s shoulder. “Trainee, can you stand?”

Mardic opened his eyes; they were unfocused and dazed. “Dunno. M’head hurts.”

 _:He, Donni and Savil held a concert shield against Tylendel’s strike:_ Taver added. _:At a range of well under a half-mile. It is quite remarkable that any of them are alive:_ He sent a hazy image, probably relayed from Fortin’s memories, of scorched, glassy ground and the torn-up remains of trees sullenly burning.

“Gods.” The word came out in barely more than a whisper. He sat back on his heels. “We might need more help.” Someone younger and stronger than either of them. He could probably lift the lad if he had to, but his joints would make him pay for it the next day.

 _:Fortin’s going to go find someone:_ Taver sent. Lancir just nodded and then let his head hang loosely for a moment.

…And then he felt Taver’s alarm, and he was on his feet before he even knew why. “Taver, what?”

He had the feeling of a mental hand held up; Taver Speaking to one of the other Companions, most likely. The conference was brief, and then–

 _:Do you know this boy?:_ Taver sent a blurry image.

 _:That’s Vanyel:_ Oh, gods, he had a bad feeling about this.

_:I was afraid of that. Come with me:_

He was out in the rain before he’d really had time to process any of it. “Taver, what’s going on?”

_:Not now. Come with me:_

 

* * *

 

Vanyel stumbled through the rain.

He didn’t really know where he was, and had no particular idea where he was going. It was impossible to hold onto a thought; the inside of his head felt like it was on fire, a molten pain that went on and on, but that did nothing to block out the howling, frozen _hole_ where Tylendel had been. He had no clear memory of anything after stepping through the Gate, but he knew that ‘Lendel was dead, that something awful had happened…

He tripped and fell hard, not bothering to catch himself, and only struggled back up and kept moving. Cuts and bruises meant nothing; he couldn’t even feel them. His teeth were chattering and he couldn’t feel his hands anymore, but that didn’t matter either. He only had the vague thought that he wanted to find somewhere to hide, curl up, and quietly die.

_‘Lendel, you lied. You said I would never have to be alone again…_

He stopped, blinking hard to clear his vision. The rain was almost too thick to see through, but there didn’t seem to be anything else in front of him. Had he come to the edge of the world?

It was the river, he realized slowly, as he stood swaying at the top of the bank. But it might as well be the edge of the world, and wasn’t that what he had hoped to find? It was swollen with the cold rain; maybe it would put out the fire inside his head at last. Maybe it would carry him along until he really did fall off the edge of the world. Maybe it could take him to Tylendel.

_‘Lendel, I’m sorry. You wanted me to live, but I can’t – not without you…_

He jumped.


	18. Interlude: Yfandes

_She feels the Gate-energies even from the other side of Haven; she is restless, has been for days, wanting to be in motion, and she has crossed and recrossed the city a dozen times, a dozen ways, despite the rain. She misses Gala. The feeling of her future-Choosing is distant – wherever he is, whoever he is, he is far away now – but the silver threads in the blue place have been gathering up in knots and tightening. Something is going to happen._

_She feels the Gate and then she feels the Call, awakening in her like a song, a wordless cry in tune with her heartbeat. It isn’t like she expected, it’s like nothing she could ever have imagined, and she finds her legs in motion, hooves slamming into the pounded mud, the rain is already coming down harder and the darkness is nearly complete but she has no need to see. She knows where she is going._

 

 

> _(In days long past, when the Kingdom was new and the first King Valdemar was in his old age, he knelt and gathered his magic to him, and prayed to his gods. I found a land, he prayed, I found a new home for my people, and I wish their future to be protected.)_

 

_She hears the Death Bell ring. It is a thing made of metal and it rings in the world of grass and trees and stone, though perhaps the echoes are strange, and the ears of a horse prick up and then flatten back and she stumbles and nearly falls._

_And she feels it in the blue place – a thread torn, a narrow path torn and cut off with finality, reverberating back and forth down the paths of the future._

_And she knows. She isn’t ready and could never have been ready, it shouldn’t have happened, Gala no Gala why what were you thinking how could you, I need you, how could you, how could you DIE?_

 

 

> _(And so the Goddess sent a spirit in the form of a white horse, and King Valdemar looked into eyes like a piece of sky, and for a moment he saw outside of Time. He fell, through the sky, into a place of void and light, and saw a thousand silver threads, a million shards, everything that was and had been and would ever be. He saw dangers greater than he had ever imagined, saw war and pain and death.)_

 

_Everything is wrong but the Call is there, stronger, a roaring in her ears, a pressure on her hide, her Chosen is there and close and she needs, she has to find him–_

 

 

> _(And King Valdemar saw courage and strength, like candles in the darkness. He knew, he had always known, that Valdemar was not the land, no, but the people, his people – and though danger loomed and pressed on every side, not now, not yet, but all across the centuries to come, he saw the paths through the darkness, and saw that his people could survive.)_

 

_She gallops, moving faster than she ever has before, muscles bunching and rippling like liquid fire, heart beating strong and steady, a wall looms and she jumps and lands and skids a little but finds her balance, she tramples a vegetable garden but keeps going, through an alleyway, leaping over a fence, down a lane and then out into the open, a field, the river is ahead and she is so close now._

_She sees him, SHE SEES HIM, not with her eyes alone but with everything that she is made of, a stumbling figure on the other side of the river, a mind crying out in agony, a spirit glowing brighter than the sun – something is wrong, she needs to be there, the nearest bridge is two hundred yards upstream and she starts to turn–_

 

 

> _(Somewhere in the past there is a fire that goes on and on. Somewhere in the future there is falling snow, dull white on a dull grey sky, there are mountains, a narrow passage through them, an army, and he, her Chosen, stands to block their path – older, weary, they are so tired of fighting, and this is what is coming, this has always been what was coming, but he is hers and she will stand by him no matter what no matter when no matter how.)_

 

_And then he jumps._

 

_She screams, a scream that shouldn’t be able to come from a horse’s throat, and she calls out in the place of blue and silver, HELPHELPHELP, a desperate cry along every channel open to her. She does not, quite, leap from the bank herself. I would break a leg, she thinks, and she picks her way down the bank even as the current pulls him from her, the Call singing inside her like a lute-string stretched to the breaking point and then plucked, and then she is wading into the water and pushing off._

_To think she used to like swimming. She remembers, distantly, jumping from the bank, into the same river, but in another body._

_Kernos’ balls, it’s cold. She is almost entirely in her body now, in the present moment, pumping legs and pounding heart, her muzzle barely clearing the surface. The blue place is distant, but the other Companions call to her, questioning, frantic, and she Sends the briefest message she can, a flash of her location. My Chosen’s in the river, need help._

_The river rides high in its banks; bits of debris slam into her. She feels confusion from the others, but acknowledgement, they are coming. Her herd, her allies._

_But not Gala, she thought Gala would always be there for her but Gala is gone._

_She thinks she is pulling ahead of the current, catching up, but her sense of him is weakening, gods, it hurts,like a joint pulled out of place, a deep wrongness in the universe. It occurs to her, in a moment of desperate self-honesty, that she is not yet bonded. If he dies, if she cannot reach him in time, she will still be able to Choose again. Every part of her flinches away from that thought, no no no I don’t want another Chosen I want my Chosen I want him. Her thoughts are tangling, coming apart, she is so cold and so tired…_

_A voice like reverberating thunder pushes away the fog. Taver, the Queen’s Own Companion, strange immortal Taver, who has bonded and lost a dozen Heralds, who awes and frightens her in equal part. He speaks to her along a private channel, and sends her a boost of energy, steadying her._

_Yfandes, calm down. Tell me what is happening._

_I’m in the river! He’s drowning! I can’t get to him…_

_Calmly. You have Chosen, then? When?_

_Just now!_

_Who is he?_

_I don’t know his name yet! She sends a fragmented image, the figure on the bank and the face she’s seen in her dreams all these years, and there is a pause, as Taver relays to the Queen’s Own Herald, and receives a reply. Then she feels his surprise, but no words._

_I am bringing my Chosen to you. I will direct help to meet you, when you reach the shore. Steady, Yfandes. You can do this._

_I can do this. She can barely feel him at all now, but the Call is still there so he must be alive. She can barely feel her own body, but she catches a glimpse of something pale ahead – not entirely with her eyes – and she digs at the water with her hooves, plunges her muzzle under the surface, and then she has something in her teeth and she turns crosswise to the current and swims for her life. She can’t get a good breath, not without dropping him, her lungs are burning, every muscle is like lead weight, but she struggles and struggles and then her hooves catch on something. She scrabbles at the bottom, bruising her hock on a stone, finding a grip, fighting her way to solid footing. She lets him go for a moment, face-up in the water and braced by the current against her legs, and fills her lungs with clean good air, then takes hold of him again and starts to wade, a tangle of bushes blocks the shore and she can’t climb out here._

_I’ve got him, Taver, she Sends with her location, and she reaches out for the others, Egan and his Chosen are ahead and then she sees a human wading towards her, a young man, up to his waist in the fast-moving water. He takes the limp form from her, drapes her Chosen over his shoulder and wades away, clambers up the bank, he slips on the mud and falls to his knees but he doesn’t drop the boy and he scrambles up and keeps going._

_She follows him, skidding and sliding and losing her footing, having to detour to the side where the bank is less steep._

_There are voices, human in her ears and Companion in her head, all mixed together. Need a Healer. He isn’t breathing. Someone should get blankets. I could really use a mage-light! Why does it have to be raining, damn it! I can’t see what I’m doing._

_Egan’s Chosen lays him down on a relatively flat spot in the mud and kneels over him. He feels dead to all her senses, her Chosen, but he can’t be, she can still feel the Call even if she can’t feel him. Lightning flashes and she sees a girl, running towards them, her aura revealing a strong Healing-Gift, but she can’t be more than thirteen years old and barely trained. She flings herself down and places both hands on the boy’s head. Yfandes can feel her surface thoughts, a swirl of panic barely tamped down. Need to get a link to him. Need to, to… Why can’t I? What am I doing wrong?_

_She breaks discipline and Sends a waft of encouragement to the girl. Calm. Focus. Think._

_Egan’s Chosen, the young man, bends and places his mouth over her Chosen’s mouth and breathes his own breath into him, damn it she doesn’t even know his name! She kneels, over his legs, and draws on her own flagging energy. Warmth, she thinks, and her flanks begin to steam under the rain, radiating heat. She can’t keep it up for long, not exhausted like this, but Egan joins her and he isn’t as tired, he hasn’t just been swimming for, for, it felt like candlemarks but it must have been only minutes. How many minutes? Her Chosen’s aura is dark and still and she can’t even sense a heartbeat, damn it, but he’s hers and she isn’t giving up. Egan’s Chosen is pushing on his chest and breathing into his lungs, and the Healer-trainee closes her eyes and grits her teeth and does something, Yfandes can see she still doesn’t have a link but she flings herself at the darkness-that-is-him anyway, a great wasteful rush of everything she has, tasting of sunlight and green things and a baby’s first cry._

_…Light, suddenly there is light, a mage-light flung up above their heads, a moment later a mage-barrier that catches the rain, and then Taver is there, planting all four feet and coming to a stop, mud splattered to his haunches, the Queen’s Own Herald on his back._

_…And that’s when she Feels him, her Chosen, a distant spark, a fading ember, curling into itself. The wordless song inside her redoubles, an implacable cry, everything-that-she-is reaching out for everything-that-he-is, and she Sees him, and she knows that his name is Vanyel and he is almost sixteen years old. She can see his face with her own eyes now, pale skin and wet black hair plastered across his forehead, a discoloured gash across his cheek._

_…And then he coughs and takes a breath._

_Egan’s Chosen pulls him onto his side just before he vomits river-water all over himself. She nudges at his shoulder, and the young man bats her away. Back off, ‘Fandes, gimme a minute. He sounds irritated but calm. Steady lad, she thinks. Egan Chose well._

_Herald-Mage Lancir climbs down from Taver’s back, stiffly, and carefully kneels by the Healer-trainee’s side. You’re not done, girl._

_She looks up. She’s exhausted, Yfandes can see, her face drawn and white under the baleful mage-light. I can’t do it. I don’t know what I’m doing!_

_You certainly did something, girl. I’m guessing his life-force was disorganized and you couldn’t find his center, so you were just throwing Healing energy in his general direction? His voice is as calm as though they are looking at a textbook together. Awfully inefficient, but something worked. Back off a second and try again, see if you can set it up properly this time. He puts a hand on her shoulder. Here, I can spare some energy for you. Taver, go, we need reinforcements. A pause. What’s your name, child?_

_Shavri, sir._

_I am very impressed. How long have you been in Healer-training?_

_Three months, sir._

_Yfandes lowers her head, nudges at her Chosen. Vanyel. She can feel his mind now, a semiconscious haze of pain and confusion. Something’s wrong; something’s happened to him. The Call fills her to the brim, painful in its intensity, and she reaches for him, prodding, trying to get any kind of response. I love you, damn it. I’ve waited for this so long._

_He opens his eyes._

_They are the silver of moonlight, and he is the most beautiful spirit she has ever seen, even shattered, even broken. The world falls into alignment, like a dislocated joint popping into place, wrongness replaced by the deepest rightness she has ever known._

_She takes him and pulls him with her into the place without Time for one, infinite instant._

_She holds him, the spirit of a woman weeping in the blue place, at the heart of a web of silver._

_She thought she was ready, but she could never have been ready, not for this. Gala, what were you thinking? She sees what she had not seen before, the slamming shut of paths, possibilities, things that could/might/maybe have been, before, but not now. Their path winds narrower than ever, and more alone. She knows, if only in glimpses, the shape of things to come, and she is afraid, and angry, and so tired._

_Damn it all, it wasn’t supposed to be like this! Gala, you weren’t supposed to die. I don’t know if I can do this without you. She screams at her Goddess, defiance and rage, a single question over and over, demanding an answer. Why?_

_There is no answer. There never is. And this is what happened; this is the world now._

_If she could take him with her and walk away into the blue, walk so far that her Goddess would never find them, and never come back–_

_But she is tied to the solid earth by a silver string, tied to a people she swore to protect, now and always._

_And if there were no string? If she had made no promises? Is there any world in which she could walk away? She is only the choices that she has made, a pattern played out in time and space, and now for just a moment she can see the weaving of threads that is her from the outside, see that there is no version of her that walks away, ever. She is tied down, not by her oaths alone, but by who and what she is and always has been._

_Her name is Yfandes and she is not a pattern that can give up._

_It’s a broken world, Chosen, and you deserve so much better. But we have to go now. We have work to do. There is a path to be walked, and only we can walk it. Please. I love you. I have always loved you. I need you. Please, please live._

 

_She comes back to her body with reluctance, cold and wet and every part of her aching, bruised all over, shaking and sick with fear-reaction._

_Vanyel’s mind slips away from her, sliding into unconsciousness._

_Taver is back, a plump woman in wet Healer Greens sliding from his back, slipping under the mage-barrier and the curtain of water sliding from the sides of it. She throws a blanket over Vanyel and then kneels, gently pushing the Queen’s Own aside and placing her hands over her trainee’s._

_Taver reaches for her on a private channel. He is with her in the blue place, a blazing light, barely in the shape of a man. You took a risk, Yfandes. He may not survive. You could have waited._

_And the unspoken part. She wouldn’t have been the first Companion to hear a Call that faded out and vanished, and go on to Choose again._

_She lifts her head and snarls at him. No. Never. He’s mine._

 

**End of Book One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that is the end of Book One of this series. See part two, 'Only deep in dreams do you appear', now complete, and part 3, 'Help me bear the burdens I have yet', which will continue to update once a week. 
> 
> My eternal gratitude to Mercedes Lackey for these amazing characters and setting, and to everyone who has been reading this so far!


End file.
